


Chiaroscuro

by Pentimento



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Art, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 73,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9722093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pentimento/pseuds/Pentimento
Summary: Recently divorced Carol Aird's New York atelier - and life - is finally running smoothly. That is until a new artist joins the school. Therese Belivet's hope of finally receiving the instruction she yearns for may soon come to fruition, but with more than she bargained for.





	1. Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> **Chiaroscuro** [kee-ahr-uh-skyoo r-oh]  
>  1: the deep variations and subtle gradations of light and shade in painting most famously used by Rembrandt  
> 3: the contrast of dissimilar qualities (as of mood or character)  
> 3: the interplay of light and shadow on a surface  
> 4: the quality of being veiled or partly in shadow

******Tuesday, October 4**

Interested eyes registered unexpected movement on Camera 8 on the 32” flatscreen tv showing the feeds from each of the 18 high-definition surveillance cameras. Pulling out the chair roughly with one hand, deft fingers quickly brought up Camera 8 into fullscreen mode with the other hand.

With the frame enlarged, it clearly showed two women standing in close proximity. The taller woman brushed back the shorter woman’s hair and leaned in closer to her, closing any gap. The red light in the corner of the frame throbbed, a constant reminder that the detected motion automatically switched on the recording function, the black and white images being written to a temporary file as the taller woman pressed her lips to the other woman’s. Unblinking eyes never left the scene on the screen. After a moment, the two women backed away slightly and continued talking closely. Smiles spread across their faces as they gently laughed. Moving beside her, the taller woman placed her arm around the shorter woman’s shoulders and they slowly strode together toward the elevator.

Fingers flew over mouse and keys, pulling up temporary files for Camera 8. _‘_ Motion detected, Tuesday, 1:12 am.’ The file is given a new filename and placed into a private, password-protected folder.

_This one will certainly be saved._

_As a reminder._

* * *

 

**Six Weeks Prior - Monday, August 15**

Therese and Dannie rode the subway in silence from Grand Central Station, both standing and holding on to the same pole. Her long, dark hair was still damp and her green eyes still showed signs of a restless night’s sleep. It was only a four minute ride to their stop and neither one of them could be considered morning people, so silence it was. Therese was content to muse about the day ahead anyway.

The train slowed and came to a stop. She followed Dannie out of the car, their swollen backpacks bumping against not only each other but also a few eager passengers hurrying to board the train. As they ascended the stairs at the Vernon Boulevard - Jackson Avenue station, Therese squinted at the bright sunlight already warming up Queens.

“Phil says the food here is good,” Dannie told her as they stood before the restaurant adjacent to the subway’s stairs. “Plus we still have an hour before we need to be there.”

Therese looked at the Dorian Cafe. Situated on the corner, the warm and inviting smell of waffles and pancakes escaped its doors and greeted them. It looked old, but quaint and homey and proudly touted its diner fare on the front of the restaurant. It was busy at this time of day, but they were able to get a table next to the window.

Dannie knew what he wanted with only a quick glance at the hefty menu. He ordered the Lumberjack Breakfast that fittingly came with pancakes, three types of meat, and eggs of his choosing. He chose scrambled. He made sure he had some hashbrowns and toast to accompany his meal. Too nervous to eat, Therese settled for a hot cup of coffee and watched him shovel food in his mouth while she picked at an apple turnover.

“Why didn’t Phil ride with us?” Therese asked Dannie, inquiring about his older brother by two years. She observed her friend, lean and muscular in his gray CCNY t-shirt, his brown hair sticking out near the crown of his head like it always did. He was the brother she never had. He cut a bite of pancake and swirled it through a puddle of maple syrup with his fork.

“He had to be there early today to help get everything ready,” Dannie told her around a mouthful of pancakes. He poured more maple syrup over them just in case some of the pancake left on his plate hadn’t already absorbed its maximum potential.

“Is he excited?” Therese asked, peeling her flaky layers of dough apart.

“Excited because he gets to boss me around in an official capacity,” mused Dannie, offering her half a piece of bacon with a raised eyebrow.

She shook her head, declining, “No, thanks.” However, the thought occurred to her that her best friend really did love her to even extend the offer. Eating bacon was arguably his second favorite pastime.

Therese watched her roommate finish his breakfast. Pensively staring into her half-empty cup of coffee, she wondered if they were making the right decision.

* * *

 

After generously paying for both their breakfasts, Dannie took off down the sidewalk with Therese struggling to match his long strides. Turning left on 11th, he asked her, “Are you nervous? Why so quiet?”

She looked at him honestly. “What if we fail?”

“What if we succeed?” her best friend answered her with a question, a habit that sometimes annoyed her in her incessant search for answers. However, he continued. “If I was doing this alone, I’d be more worried. But we have each other to pick the other one up. Together we will find a way to make it work, T.”

“It’s the student loan payments that scare me,” she admitted as they walked past apartments and small buildings. Earning their respectives degrees at the City College of New York had left both of them in debt. They had both finished their degrees in three years, longer than it should have taken, but they had worked full-time while studying to afford luxuries like their simple shared walk-up and food.

They stopped at the corner and waited for the light to change. The area of Long Island City they walked was sadly forlorn, more concrete and brick than anything with only a few scraggly trees dotting the street. It screamed utilitarian, its purpose pragmatic rather than aesthetic.

“If we have to find second jobs, we have to find second jobs. It’s only for a year. And while I love our apartment, we probably could find something cheaper or get an extra roommate if push comes to shove. But let’s worry about those things when we need to. Try to enjoy what you’re embarking on here. You’ve been given a gift, Therese, and I’m not talking about your artistic talent.” They stepped off the curb in unison.

She nodded, although she didn’t answer him. He was right, as he usually was, seeing potential where she often saw bleakness, optimism to her pessimism, hope to her worry.

“I’m just as jealous of you as I’m proud of you,” he said, making her crack a smile.

Looking up, she could see the four tall red and white smokestacks of the Ravenswood Generating Station in the distance along the East River. She remembered the joy she felt seeing them as a child as she and her mother crossed the Queensboro Bridge to visit her grandmother in Islip. Later in the dark, their red warning beacons high in the sky welcomed her back home to the city as she struggled to keep her young eyes open.

That was long ago though, she remembered with equal parts fondness and melancholy. Her grandmother died when she was seven and she hadn’t seen her mother since she was eight. She often wondered if her mother might have been able to handle the responsibility of raising a child if her father hadn’t left and her grandmother hadn’t died so young. But it didn’t matter now. It was all in the past and wondering changed nothing.

* * *

 

_**Atelier:** an artist’s studio or workroom_

 

The three-story red brick building was nothing special. It appeared to be an old warehouse. In fact, had she not known what it was, Therese never would have guessed what was inside. Flat-sided and unimpressive, large windows dotted the brick. Air conditioning units sticking out were the only thing that gave any three-dimensionality to the surface of the nondescript building. The smallest red awning marked the front door from what could just as easily have been a back door.

Therese rang the bell next to the wrought iron and glass door that was simply stenciled with ‘Atelier Aird.’ Inside, an older woman at the front desk with what was once probably jet-black hair acknowledged them and pushed a button. The door clicked, allowing Dannie to open it for her.

The inside of the building was stunning in contrast to the exterior. What economy had forsaken outside had been given just attention inside. Therese’s hard-soled shoes clicked on the immaculate hardwood floor as she entered the art gallery.

“Welcome,” the woman said, rising and coming around the counter. “I’m Ruby Robichek. I look after the gallery for Carol.” She wore a navy tailored skirt and jacket over an impeccable white blouse. Her blue high heels matched the suit perfectly.

“Mrs. Robichek?” Therese stammered, surprised. She wasn’t prepared for this, but she attempted to recover quickly. “I’m Therese Belivet. I believe it’s you that I have to thank for my scholarship.”  

“Oh, you’re Therese! It’s Ruby.” She extended her arm to shake hands first with Therese. She had a regal streak of white in her hair, not unlike Bonnie Raitt or Lily Munster. While a woman of her means could certainly color her locks to hide the poliosis, it was obvious that she liked it and the look suited her. “I was looking forward to meeting you today. It’s always nice to put a name with a face. Your art impressed me. I think you have a lot to offer with a little guidance. And I think Carol is the perfect person to give you just that.” She gently touched Therese on the forearm as if she revealing a small secret.

“Thank you,” Therese said quietly.

Turning toward Dannie, Ruby grasped his hand. “And you must be Dannie. I can see the brotherly resemblance around the eyes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied awkwardly.

“Ruby,” she reiterated. “It’s nice to meet you. Why don’t you two take a look around the gallery?” she instructed them. “Once everyone is here, the group will go upstairs together.” She turned on a heel and left them to wander through the three brightly lit rooms that opened one into another.

They cautiously walked around the room they had been standing in. Besides holding the reception desk, the room was hung with medium-sized works of what appeared to be students’ drawings. A professionally printed sign on the wall near the front desk explained that 80-90% of the proceeds from artwork bought in the gallery went directly to the student.

“Did you know this?” Therese asked Dannie quietly, motioning to the sign as she marveled at an exquisite figure drawing done on a blue-toned paper in charcoal and highlighted with white chalk. It was a woman standing, her back to the viewer. Therese tried to imagine how long it must have taken to complete.

“Yeah. Phil sold a couple pieces here last year. Apparently the gallery has a small, but loyal following.”  He moved on to the next figure drawing, but continued to tell her, “He sold a few pieces for other students in here, too, and even one of the instructor’s paintings.”

“He worked here?” Therese asked him quizzically. “I didn’t know that.”

“Not really. It’s like volunteering, but everybody does it. That’s how it goes,” he told her matter-of-factly. “The upside is you get a commission if you sell something. All for one, one for all,” he quipped, raising a fist in the air before grinning and turning to walk through the large open doorway to the next gallery.

Therese noted the second gallery, which appeared to be the largest of the three, held students’ paintings. Her fear that she felt on her way this morning was somewhat assuaged when she saw in person the high quality of the paintings being produced. She had seen a few of them on the atelier’s website, but it didn’t do them justice compared to what hung before her. The paintings were masterful, nuanced, ...museum-quality. If she came out of here having acquired these skills, it didn’t matter the sacrifices she might have to make in the upcoming year. She would live on beans and rice if it meant learning to paint like this.

“This one is Phil’s,” Dannie called to her as the front door buzzed open, allowing two more young men around their age entrance. As Ruby greeted them, Therese came to stand next to Dannie. They observed his brother’s painting with reverence. Phil was indeed talented, his painting full of bold brushstrokes that sometimes left their rightful place and extended into the surrounding areas. It gave his painting an energy, an electricity. It stood firmly on the ground of Realism, although it leaned toward Impressionism. It matched his jovial, daring nature, his respect for tradition and his attraction to thinking outside the box.

“Will it be strange to learn from your brother?” asked Therese.

“I don’t think so. I’ve been learning from him all my life,” Dannie said thoughtfully as more voices came from the lobby area. They continued their circular path around the room. Just as they moved into the third room, the two young men who had entered the building after them began looking around the second room. One was tall with slightly receding dark hair and glasses. The other young man was of medium build with strong cheekbones and slicked-back brown hair. Therese noticed that they seemed to know each other.

“Will it be awkward being in class with Richard?” Dannie asked her.

Therese started to answer him, but the words escaped her brain on a jetstream that blew from the back of the third gallery and swept right through her. Struggling to remain standing, instead she pointed.

“Look at that painting,” she murmured just above a whisper. Her jaw hung slack and she couldn’t have taken her eyes from it had the building been on fire. “It’s _magnificent_ ,” she gasped breathlessly.

Taking a few steps closer, her eyes traveled over the reclining nude, partly on her side, partly on her stomach, her breasts pressed into the bed. What was obviously sunlight streamed in from an unseen window on the right, illuminating the curves of her body and the folds of the sheets beneath her. Therese was tempted to reach out and run her hand along the woman’s body to feel each hill and valley. Her breathing became audible.

Dannie stood so closely their shoulders were touching, their backpacks bumping.

The painting called out to her with a silent magnetism she had never known in a work of art. She wanted to feel the thickness of the sheets between her fingers, touch the draped creases in the fabric - they looked smooth like percale and miraculously translucent. Despite the bright warmth of the sun’s rays, the woman’s arm hung limply over the side of the bed, giving the painting a solemn mood. Her face was difficult to make out, not only because it was in shadow, but because of the almost upside-down angle of her head. Therese’s heart pounded in her chest.

Dannie stood next to her. “It’s beautiful.” He pointed to the caption on the placard next to the painting. “It’s Carol’s.”

“Carol’s,” Therese softly whispered, as unexpected tears welled up in her eyes and she made every attempt to keep them at bay.

“All the art in this room seems to be the instructors’,” Dannie observed. “This wall is all Carol’s, and this wall is all Abby’s,” he said, turning around. Therese didn’t move.

Facing her again, Dannie noticed the color had drained from her face and there was a slight red tinge in her glassy eyes. She continued to stare at the painting on the wall, but her eyes appeared almost unfocused.

“You’re not going all Stendhal on me, are you?” he asked jokingly as more bodies and voices entered the room behind them.

His quip broke her trance and she laughed uncomfortably, taking a step back. “Of course not. I just like it is all.”

“I’d give my non-brush hand to be able to paint like that,” Dannie agreed. “I wonder how much longer we have to wait,” he wondered, glancing at the time on his phone’s screen.

They didn’t have to wait long. Through the last doorway, a simple elevator door was visible. With a resounding ding that ricocheted off the flat walls and floors of the gallery, the doors opened.

“That’s Carol,” Dannie whispered.

If Therese had been captivated by the painting, her infatuation was suddenly put into perspective when she saw the woman who had painted it.

 

* * *

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The painting of the nude exists. It was painted by Jacob Collins who actually runs an atelier at that location, although I’ve taken some liberties. The painting can be seen here: http://bit.ly/2l17cfq
> 
> Thank you to Ligeria for always being willing to find my errors and to my love for the kick in the pants and the continual support.
> 
> Happy Valentines's Day, darlings.


	2. Focal Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Focal Point:** The place in a work of art at which attention becomes focused because of an element emphasized in some way_

The elegant beauty that stepped out of the elevator took Therese by surprise. Expecting to see someone with paint-stained hands and clothes, she was unexpectedly greeted by a gorgeous and impeccably-dressed blonde woman. She wore a black skirt, a tailored white button-up shirt, and a black vest hanging open over it. Knee-high black boots that hugged her calves capped off her ensemble and probably gave an extra inch or two in height to her already-tall frame. Her flaxen hair ended just above her shoulders in gentle waves.

But it was the woman’s blue eyes that captivated her the most. When their eyes met, there was a question - a feeling - like when two people meet who have met before, but neither can quite put a finger on where. And so they stared at each other as if each woman remembered the other, asking silent questions, until Dannie suddenly shifting his feet finally caused Therese to break their held gaze and glance at the floor.

Aside from her stunning looks, what most impressed Therese about Carol Aird was the mesmerizing effect she naturally possessed as she surveyed her realm. By the time the woman called out for her students to join her, they were already obligingly drawing closer like moths to a flame.

“I’m Carol Aird. I’d like to welcome you to Atelier Aird.” She looked around, doing a quick head count. "It's a small elevator, so we'll need to go upstairs in two groups," Carol stated. Keeping the doors from closing with one hand she ordered, "Gentlemen first, and I'll follow with the ladies."  

Dannie left Therese’s side and stepped into the elevator. He shrugged out of his backpack and held it near his legs to make more room in the small compartment. Therese did the same with hers as she waited outside for her turn.

"Terry." Therese heard a voice murmur a greeting as someone clumsily brushed past her. Her ex-boyfriend Richard stepped into the elevator beside Dannie and the two other young men followed him.

"Richard," she said quietly in reply.

Carol’s eyes quickly darted between the two of them before she stepped into the elevator and inserted a card key into a slot. She punched a button and then stepped back out with her card. "See you in a minute, gentlemen."

"So these are my ladies," Carol said as much to herself as anyone as the elevator doors closed behind her. As soon as the contraption was heard moving upward, she pressed the button on the wall to call it back. 

She studied each of the women standing in front of her. Therese's eyes followed Carol's to the brunette and then the slightly shorter sandy-haired woman next to her. Therese felt heat rush to her cheeks when she felt Carol's eyes land on her last, lingering again like they had just moments before. Therese noticed the other two young women didn't seem to know how to reply to Carol's statement either, so the three of them just shifted uncomfortably before her, the lack of any introductions thus far hanging heavy in the air.

Carol's confidence on her home turf also extended into silences, it appeared. No more was said until the elevator returned empty and she shepherded the women inside. As Therese stepped in after the other two women, she felt a soft hand press against her lower back. Startled, she flinched, but when she turned around Carol was already inserting her card and punching the button for the second of the three floors, seemingly oblivious to Therese's reaction. Nevertheless, Therese felt the flush on her cheeks increase as the crowded compartment ascended. 

Something new hit her though – the faint smell of a sweet perfume, light yet heady. Therese didn’t know which of the three women it belonged to, but she knew whose skin she hoped exuded the scent as she stood next to Carol, their shoulders almost touching, cautiously keeping her eyes straight ahead until the doors opened, freeing her from the elevator’s claustrophobic confines and from the scent that made her head reel.

What greeted her as she stepped out of the elevator made her smile. If it was possible to fall in love at first sight with a room, Therese certainly had. The wooden floors, the open space, the perfect lighting – it just felt right. Knowing that this was where she would be spending most of her time over the next year made her deliriously happy and Therese realized that Carol had caught her pleasant reaction as she came around to address the group. 

“Now that we’re all together, we’ll do some introductions.” Phil and a woman who had been sitting at a table with him stood up to join them. The group stood in front of a wall that formed the shorter width of the building. Sandwiched between the elevator in one corner and the stairway in the other, the length of the building was laid out before them in almost one continuous open, airy space. Therese glanced up at the high ceilings, the exposed duct work, and the complex grid of lights hanging above an array of easels.

“Come.” Carol strode away, her black boots clacking against the hardwood floors. She walked past a small kitchen area with its round table toward a cluster of old, but comfortable-looking sofas and chairs forming a ring around a large coffee table arranged with art books and magazines. Everyone followed. “Make yourselves comfortable,” she instructed. “Grab some chairs from the kitchen if we need more seats.” She leaned one hip against the end of a sofa, half sitting and half standing, as she waited for everyone to be seated.

Therese sank down deeply next to Dannie on one of the sofas. The dark-haired young woman sat next to her. Everyone found a seat with two of the guys choosing to just sprawl out on the area rug, their backs resting against a plush chair or sofa arm. 

After the encounter downstairs and inside the elevator, Therese was grateful to be sandwiched in between Dannie and the young woman beside her. It made her feel sheltered, invisible, providing a protective barrier against the blue eyes that made her nervous for some unknown reason. But as those eyes nevertheless scoured the group and landed on her, Therese knew no barrier existed as they managed to tear down any mental wall she had tried to use as protection. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to brush it off as first day jitters and studied her nails intently until Carol spoke again.

“I’d like to introduce you to your other instructor.” Waving a hand to the auburn-haired woman on her right, Carol continued, “This is Abigail Gerhard. She will be sharing teaching duties with me. If I am not teaching your class, Abby will be.”

Abby smiled and nodded to the group of students. Carol continued, “To her right is Phil McElroy.” Therese smiled at Phil, his brown hair lighter than his brother’s, his long legs extended before him. Therese could tell he was slightly uncomfortable beneath the bright smile he gave everyone, but even his discomfort couldn’t dampen the elation Therese knew he harbored ever since earning the position. 

“Phil successfully completed the atelier’s program last year and will be joining us as a teaching assistant this year. We’re very happy to have him and I think you’ll learn a lot from him, even if some of you are related to him.” 

Carol gave a small wink to Dannie and suddenly the football player that Therese didn’t know lived inside of her wanted to leap in front of Dannie, her body sprawled out horizontally to intercept that wink, clutch it to her chest, and claim it as hers. For reasons she didn’t comprehend, she wished Carol had winked at her and the realization bothered her. 

Therese could feel her pulse, wild and violent. Suddenly, the swirling combination of first day nerves, the knowledge she had to deal with Richard again, group introductions she always found unnecessarily stressful, and the uneasiness she felt ever since the elevator doors had opened downstairs and Carol had emerged, caused her inner seas to become reckless and the mood foreboding.

“So, let’s start with you. Please introduce yourself and tell us something about you that isn’t related to art.” Carol looked directly at the young man on the floor sitting next to Phil’s leg. The lanky young man in glasses looked surprised she began with him.

“Uh … my name is Tommy Tucker and, uh …”

Whatever fact the young man chose to share about himself fell on Therese’s deaf ears as her brain was knocked to and fro by surging currents – that is, until a siren’s voice called her attention back to the conversation.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Carol said, shifting her eyes to the guy sitting on the floor next to him and raising her eyebrows in expectation.

While Therese’s insides billowed and surged, she noticed Carol appeared calm and confident, one booted leg now crossed over the other. Carol leaned with one hand on the back of the sofa behind Abby to support herself. Distractedly, she ran her fingers through her blonde hair with the other. Meanwhile, a qualmish and devastating storm continued to brew within Therese.

The young man spoke, but Therese only caught a portion of what he said as her concentration wafted. “Jack Taft,” Therese vaguely heard. “ … lacrosse … played at St. John’s.” His voice was drowned out by her internal tempest. 

“What position do you play, Jack?” Carol inquired as Therese struggled to keep her undulating focus on the group in front of her.

“I’m an attacker,” Jack answered. Seeing Carol’s eyebrows furl, he boastfully explained, “I’m a scorer.”

A snicker escaped from his buddy Tommy sitting next to him, earning him a punch in the leg and telling the group more about Jack than his lacrosse tidbit ever could.

“And you?” Carol failed to hold back a small smile as she shifted her gaze to Richard who sat in the chair Jack lounged against. Therese intentionally kept her eyes lowered as Richard glanced around the group. The wind of her thoughts whipped at her unsteady craft, making it roll and lurch chaotically.

“My name is Richard Semco. I’m a manager at my family’s framing business. Three generations of my family work there.” These facts Therese already knew well and they swam in one ear and out the other as she battled to stay afloat.

“That’s wonderful, Richard. I’m sure you can enlighten us all when it comes time to frame our works,” Carol added. “Next?” She turned her head toward the woman with short curly hair sitting beside Richard. 

Therese saw the young woman’s lips moving, but the sounds didn’t penetrate her own personal reverie even though the young woman’s sincere smile seemed a sign of someone kind and almost innocent. Meanwhile, the maelstrom that threatened to draw Therese in hammered at her with its turbulent peril.

“How long have you volunteered there?” Therese distantly heard Carol ask as a veil of sadness spread across Carol’s face. 

“About three years …” The woman answered as Therese’s focus shifted again, her thoughts clashing and crashing, the shipwreck in her brain taking in water by the second as her anxiety became unleashed. Therese barely heard her finish, “... started as a volunteer requirement.” 

“Good for you, Jeanette. And you?” The latter Carol directed to the brunette sitting next to Therese. Despite the whirlpool of emotions threatening to drown her, Therese noticed Carol’s eyes dart to her before settling back on the woman beside her.

“I’m Genevieve Cantrell. Most people call me Gen. I’m a weekend warrior – National Guard, that is,” she said proudly but not boastfully not far from Therese’s left ear, but Therese wasn’t listening.

“That’s right,” Carol said. “I remember that from your application. We will be without you for a couple weeks during the year, I believe.” 

An image crossed Therese’s mind. She saw herself in the raging storm within her, standing on the bow of her craft, ready to go down with the wreckage before the ship had even reached open seas.

“Yes, ma’am,” Genevieve responded automatically.

“Just ‘Carol’ is fine here, Gen,” Carol laughed, causing everyone to smile but Therese.

And then Therese knew it was time, the moment she knew was coming and dreaded with great apprehension. The waves swelled and rose and crashed down upon her as Carol turned to her and smiled.

“And since you are the last female to be introduced, I would like to take a moment to congratulate the recipient of the Robichek Endowment for the Arts Scholarship.” Carol smiled and gestured in Therese’s direction, nodding for her to introduce herself. 

And in that instance, the deluge that had plagued Therese up until now became placid.  Her skies cleared, the squall moving away from her. The rays of Carol’s smile shone more glorious light upon Therese than had the actual news when she had received the scholarship months ago. 

The group politely clapped and Therese waited, pink-cheeked, for them to stop before she began.

“Thank you. I’m Therese Belivet …”

“Terez? Not Te-reese?” Carol interrupted to inquire as she sat up straighter.

“Yes, ‘Terez,’” Therese answered, as the waves subsided.

“Well,  _ Te-rez _ Belivet,” Carol said languidly, drawing out the syllables of her name in a way that Therese had never heard before and wanted to hear always, “tell us something about yourself.”

While all the others had introduced themselves, Therese had frantically tried to think of something that would describe _her_ , encapsulate _her_ , really tell them something about herself. _'I’m an orphan,'_  was certainly a monumental part of who she was, but what a downer to unleash on the group. Plus, it was incredibly personal and she wasn’t ready to expose herself like that here. At least not yet. ‘ _I graduated from CCNY.’_ _Boring. They don’t care where you earned your degree._ She didn’t really have hobbies outside of art and Carol had asked for something non-art related. Even her job was art related.

So, with everyone’s eyes upon her, she knew she only had one choice and it was only a matter of time anyway. She chose the one bright thing that guided her every decision: she chose her beacon of hope. 

Therese inhaled, looked directly into the calm pools of Carol’s blue eyes, and stated, “I have a two-year old son. His name is Andy.”


	3. inter spem et metum

****Carol wished she could skip past the mundane tasks of the first day. She viewed these obligations as irritating potholes impeding where she really wanted to be, but she knew they had to be crossed at some point. She itched to roll right into a drawing lesson, but she knew the correct thing to do was to tackle a few items first.

Pushing the desire to jump in headfirst aside, Carol addressed the small semicircle. She noticed how Jack, Tommy, and Richard seemed to have quickly bonded as the three of them laughed about something. Therese stood close to Dannie with her hands buried in her jean pockets, her shoulders hunched, her green shirt bringing out the color in her eyes. _Focus._

“As you all may have noticed, we have a pretty high-tech building.” She opened a large manila envelope with a manicured nail. “Both the building and elevator require an access card. I’m happy to give students 24-hour access to the building.” Carol handed small envelopes with their names on them to each student. Pulling her hands out of her pockets, Therese took hers from Carol, examining her name written in neat handwriting on the front. “You will also find a four-digit code inside the envelope. Should you forget your access card or choose not to use it, you can enter your code on the keypads. Please do not share your code with anyone else,” Carol instructed.

“The lights are motion activated. If you arrive and the lights are off, you’re the first one here. And that means you have one job and one job only, and that job is to make coffee.” Carol smiled as Abby shouted an emphatic ‘Yes!’ from the back and most of the group grinned, nodding their heads in agreement.

“The ventilation system is also motion activated.” She pointed upwards to the system of ductwork hanging from the rafters high above the easels.

“Why couldn’t the coffeemaker have a motion sensor?” Tommy joked.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you. It _does_ have a timer, but since people arrive at all different times, it’s just easier for the first person to make the coffee,” Carol answered, eager to get back on track.

“One of the downsides of oil paint is that we will be working with solvents that are hazardous to our health. My goal is to have as low of a level of fumes possible in here, so a special system has been installed just to ensure we are breathing the highest quality air. If the system senses motion in the studio, it’s on.”

“We also have security cameras installed for safety both in here and in the gallery,” Carol stated, pointing to a rounded black object in one corner. Students followed her finger’s path before curious eyes darted around the large room looking for similar cameras.

“Now, let’s talk about some of the other features in here,” Carol said, passing closely by Therese and Dannie as she wandered over to the windows. Therese took a sudden and obvious step backwards, giving Carol far more room than was necessary. When Carol turned around, she briefly made eye contact with Abby, but couldn’t read the expression on her best friend’s face.

 

* * *

 

As Carol walked past her, Therese felt her presence vibrate the atoms and molecules in the air between them, causing her to involuntarily step back. She instantly regretted it, knowing she had drawn unwanted attention to herself. A strange part of her feared being in close proximity to Carol. The panic had manifested itself dynamically, so suddenly tangible she would have rather approached a downed electrical line while walking through standing water. She intrinsically knew that whatever power Carol harnessed had the potential either to do miraculous things or possibly destroy her.

Carol’s voice brought Therese back. “These windows all face north. As I’m sure you all know, natural northern light is preferable because it changes little throughout the day. You’ll notice that all the southern windows have blackout drapes on them. It will be a rare day you’ll see them open,” Carol said as everyone turned around to look. “That’s why that side of the room is used for other purposes.”

As Therese assessed the southern half of the great room, she could still feel Carol’s presence behind her. Her eyes absorbed the small kitchen and its wooden table, the circular group of chairs and sofas they had used earlier, and a large workbench in front of some storage cabinets. Bookshelves filled with art books occupied the wall space between the windows near the sofas and chairs, creating a tiny library, a place she could easily see herself curling up with an artist’s _catalogue raisonné_ in a comfortable chair for a needed break.

“While natural light is lovely, it isn’t always enough to suffice, especially if you like to work late into the night,” Carol continued. “Each station has a set of lights above it. The bulbs are Tungsten 3500-5000 Kelvin white-balanced to mimic natural daylight.” Heads swiveled around and then upward, except for Therese’s, who found something infinitesimally more interesting to gaze at, even if it was short-lived.

“Are they motion activated?” Richard asked, annoying Therese by interrupting Carol with his question whose answer Therese thought was fairly obvious.

“No,” Carol answered, using her fingers to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “They can be turned on individually to suit your needs.”

Therese realized she needed to assuage her annoyance of Richard. She knew he wasn’t a bad guy and she _had_ liked him in the beginning. They had enjoyed some good times together before his immaturity came to light abruptly and unexpectedly. It had lurked silently below the surface like the virus that causes hives, making its presence known explosively and painfully when life got too real for him. Worse than that though, was when he called her a week later frantically claiming a change of heart and begging her for a second chance. It was too late, however, to make amends, for Therese had already decided to make the journey alone. _Well, not exactly alone_ , she thought to herself.

Therese watched Carol walk over to an easel and trail her fingers delicately along its shelf. “Speaking of stations, you’ll notice that each station has a single-mast oak easel.” Turning, Carol laid her hand on a waist-high oak cabinet. “And you each have your own taboret for holding your palette and storing your paints and brushes. These dark boxes are shadowboxes that we will use when we study still life painting.” She mindlessly adjusted the black fabric draped over the shadowbox. Their eyes connected briefly and Therese had a sudden realization that Carol looked bored, that she would rather be doing something else, but stood before them orientating them about lights and key codes out of duty rather than desire.

Looking down, Carol continued, “Each station is set up on a rug.” She poked at it with her black, booted toe. “It serves a dual purpose: it’s easier on your feet when you’re standing and it helps to keep paint off the wood floors.”

“Do we need to bring our own stools?” asked the dark-haired woman whose name Therese couldn’t recall. Therese noticed just how fit she was, well-defined arms emerging from her snug t-shirt.

“No, Genevieve. We won’t be using stools,” Carol answered cautiously. “Not in the beginning.” Students glanced at each other.

“Because we’ll be using the sight-size method?” asked the young man in glasses.

“That’s part of it, Tommy,” Carol explained. “I want you to get in the habit of stepping back from your work. Sometimes ‘you can’t see the forest for the trees,’ and you need to create some distance in order to do that. I’ve found the best way to remember to step back – is to stand.” Therese cringed, thinking how her feet would feel after a day of standing at an easel and then being on her feet during an entire shift at the art store. 

 

* * *

 

Seeing the disgruntled looks around her, Carol quickly amended, “It’s only temporary. Once you are in the habit of stepping back and assessing your work, the stools will come out of storage. But by then, some of you might even prefer not using them.” She caught the amused smirk on Abby’s face. Abby had grumbled about helping her store the stools up on the third floor and had warned her the students might balk, but deep down Carol knew the two of them were in agreement. They often were, having known each other as long as they had.

“Abby, do you have anything to add?” Carol inquired, looking over the heads of the students towards her.

Abby stepped forward. “Yes. You’re all welcome to use the kitchen, just please clean up after yourselves. If you need to freeze any food, please put it in the bottom of the refrigerator’s freezer. The standalone freezer is for palettes and brushes only.”

“Why the freezer?” asked Richard, chuckling. Carol noticed Therese avoided looking at him, swinging her foot back and forth, tapping the front toe of her left shoe with the heel of her right shoe. Carol had the gut feeling it wasn’t out of boredom.

“Oil paint doesn’t dry; it oxidizes,” Abby explained to the group. “Freezing temperatures retard the process. So you can freeze any unused paint left on your palette and use it over a span of days or even weeks.” She laughed. “Or if you’re like me and hate cleaning brushes, you can wrap them in aluminum foil, throw them in the freezer at night, and use them the next day. Just keep food away from paint and vice versa. Carol and I will talk more about the toxicity of certain pigments during class.”

She took a few steps to her right. “Along the same line though, _this_ sink,” she pointed to the kitchen sink, “is for dishes. _That_ sink, is for cleaning brushes,” she said, pointing toward a dirty, concrete utility sink in the far corner of the studio. Abby walked toward the large workbench area, motioning for everyone to follow her.

Carol leaned against the back of a sofa and crossed her arms over her chest, observing. She watched Abby, someone she knew better than anyone, including her ex-husband. They finished each other’s sentences and knew what the other one was thinking. Yet despite their similarities and love for each other, when it had come down to it, Carol simply hadn’t been able to reconcile the knowledge that something was missing between them. Due to that, she had been unable to make it work out when they had become something more than just friends. Despite the pleasure they had found in each other, trying to force together two things that weren’t quite right had only made Carol yearn for escape. In order to salvage their friendship, Carol had put an end to their romantic fling.

“This is the supply area,” Abby said, extending her arm toward two large six-foot-high cabinets that spanned a third of the wall’s width.

Abby had responded badly at first, hurt and obviously in love. It had taken time and a long, tearful talk, but they had come to an agreement on their relationship: their friendship was paramount.

“You are responsible for purchasing your paints and brushes, as your welcome letter stated,” Abby told them, “but here you will find canvas, linen, stretcher bars, panels, gesso, odorless mineral spirits, varnish, and all your drawing supplies. The work bench area is for preparing canvases, varnishing, framing, or anything else where a horizontal surface is needed.”

Jack elbowed Tommy and they both chuckled, drawing a wry look from Abby.

Sighing, Abby pulled her auburn hair loosely into a ponytail with her hands and then let it go, the hair falling back into her mid-length bob. Turning to her side, she explained, “These two glass boxes are Carol’s and my offices. If the door is open, come on in.”

Abby walked past the front of their offices toward the oval of easel stations that surrounded an 18” high model stand in the center.

“Let’s talk about music, too.” She had everyone’s interest as she turned around. “The time you spend here in the studio can be divided up into class time and open studio time, that being any time class is not being held.”

As she waited for Abby to continue, Carol watched as Dannie casually slung his arm over Therese’s shoulder, gently leaning on her. Therese glanced up at him and grinned, dimples showing. Carol hadn’t seen her smile before, and her own visceral reaction startled her.

“We,” Abby said, motioning to Carol, “have no problem with anyone using headphones to listen to music during open studio times. However, please refrain from using headphones during class time, even if no actual lesson is actively being taught. As Carol, Phil, and I walk around talking to each of you, there will often be times where you can learn by overhearing advice given to someone else or we may ask for your attention to show you something. But don’t worry. We will play music on the sound system during class from time to time when we are not doing a demonstration.”

Abby stopped in front of a Belgian art horse, a simple wooden bench with a raised end to lean a drawing board against. Straddling the horse backwards, she raised her palms and looked across the room at Carol. “That’s all I have.”

Carol was still struggling to push the image from her memory of _that_ smile and _those_ dimples, but it still lingered on her cerebral cortex, vibrant and sharp. She straightened up as eyes turned toward her.

“We’ve given you some necessary information this morning about the building and studio, but now let’s talk about what’s really important.”

 

* * *

 

Therese watched as Carol came closer, stopping just in front of them and looking into each student’s eyes. When Carol’s gaze fell on her, she felt warm blood rush through her veins, its pressure pounding a furious tempo inside her eardrums.

“You are all here for one reason. Each of your applications expressed a desire to learn classical painting methods that have been around for centuries. And despite holding art degrees, you have felt that your education so far has been lacking when it comes to these practices.” Carol’s hands moved as she talked, gesturing widely. “Part of that is due to the fact that the material covered in undergraduate degree programs tends to be an inch deep and a mile wide in scope. However, also to blame are the revolutionary art movements that came about during the 20th century that shifted focus towards modern art. Unfortunately, that also meant that the time-honored practice of teaching classical realism fell by the wayside for more than 50 years.”

Therese moved out from under Dannie’s arm. She stood taller and took a slight step forward, eager to hear what Carol had to say.

Carol went on. “Fortunately, there has been a return to realism and here we will teach you the methods that have been taught since the Renaissance in the ateliers and academies of Europe. Traditionally, those ateliers were studios where apprentices learned from and worked with masters.” She smiled a coy smile. “That said, neither Abby and I are pretending to be masters at our crafts, nor do we want to teach you to paint exactly like we do. Our goal is to provide you with the tools to paint realistically and find your own style.”

A fluttering occurred in Therese’s chest. On its wings it carried a healthy dose of excitement and anticipation. Surely it was because of all the potential this year held. She was enthusiastic to learn all that she would learn here. It was the fulfillment of her dream, a step toward becoming a successful painter to support herself and her son. A tiny voice also told her that she was lying by omission in regards to all her excitement held.

“Lastly, your applications required a written recommendation, preferably from a former student,” Carol stated. “We do this for a number of reasons: It is our first step toward filtering potential applicants to find students who are really serious about wanting to learn classical methods. And students tend to know which of their old classmates, friends, or family members have that desire and will be a good fit. While not everyone accepted has had a former student’s recommendation, most have. So, some of you may know each other.”

“It also serves to foster a pleasant atmosphere. By providing each of you a letter of recommendation, those former students have vouched for you. There are seven students in your class, plus the three of us,” she said, gesturing to herself, Abby, and Phil. We will be spending a lot of time together and will hopefully become a tight-knit group,” Carol continued, her sincerity evident. “While we scrutinized your portfolios for talent and work ethic, we also looked to accept students with whom we hope to enjoy spending time. I hope the studio will become your second home for the next year and us your surrogate family.” Carol stood up tall, smoothing her skirt, her eyes bright with a positivity Therese found enchanting.

“We strongly believe that we can all learn something from each other, regardless of education, age, or experience. Abby and I may be your instructors, but you will certainly benefit from Phil’s talent and knowledge, and also by being open to learning from each other.”

“That said,” Carol switched topics, eager to see the students’ responses, “the goal is for everyone to succeed. In addition to attending classes and putting in time in the studio, you are expected to _volunteer_ four hours a week downstairs in the gallery.”

A bit of grumbling came from the back and Carol’s voice rose as she spoke over it. “We think that is a fair amount of time and it has a purpose. It gives you valuable experience talking with the public about your art and your peers’ art. You’ll learn ways to promote yourself in a positive way and how to handle the financial aspects of selling paintings and running a gallery.”

Therese internally cringed, knowing that would be four more hours away from her son each week.

Seeing displeasure still evident, Carol continued, “You are not required to put your art in the gallery, but we encourage it. If a piece of your art sells, you receive 80% of the total sale.” Interest rose at the news. “The person who makes the sale receives 10% of the sale, regardless of whether it is their piece or not. And the final 10% goes to the gallery. We think this is an extremely fair structure. Most galleries out there take 50% and often the artist has to pay for advertising and promotional materials.”

Therese had to admit that that having a roomful of people promoting her artwork was a nice thought. Plus, she welcomed any additional money from potential sales as she hoped to work only one job outside of the atelier this year rather than having to pick up some part-time work to make ends meet. Thankfully the scholarship took some of the burden off her.

Carol paced in front of the students, Therese fidgeting whenever Carol moved toward her side of the group.

“I believe you all met Mrs. Ruby Robichek downstairs,” Carol started. “Ruby volunteers in the gallery each week and manages most of its operations. You will schedule your hours with her and she will cover any additional hours when students are not able to be there. In addition, Ruby will work with each of you to reasonably price your artwork. And since she and her husband have more money than God, she declines any percentage of sales she makes.” Carol smiled as she told them, “Her percent is split equally among the students and paid out each month. She does all this simply because she enjoys it, she’s an ardent supporter of the arts, and she believes in this school and in all of your potential. I don’t take any of this for granted and neither should you.” Carol’s face expressed her seriousness about this topic far better than any words might have.

Having let her opinion be known, Carol put her hands on her hips and looked around. “Phil, do you have the syllabi?” Phil stepped forward and handed her some papers. Carol took one and handed the stack to Jeanette who was standing closest to her. As the students each took one, Therese heard one of the young men behind her quietly say, “I think it’s in another language.”

Glancing up at Carol, their eyes met and Therese saw her hold back a smile, only the corners of her mouth twitching gave her away.

Carol instructed them, “Here is your syllabus for the semester. It will give you an idea of what we expect to cover and in what order. Your homework is to read through it tonight.” She sighed and then announced,”That’s all I have for you today. You’re welcome to choose a station and put your personal belongings in your taboret. Feel free to look around and familiarize yourself with the studio, open cupboards and see where things are kept, check out the still life objects on the shelves, and be sure and try out your access cards and codes before you leave,” she instructed. “Any questions?”

Jeanette raised her hand.

“You don’t have to raise your hand here, Jeanette,” Carol told her.

Sheepishly lowering it, Jeanette inquired, “What is the policy on absences or tardiness?”

Carol took a deep breath. “We expect you to be in class. We make the effort to be here and i hope you respect us enough to do the same. I’m not wasting my time taking attendance though,” she scoffed, but became serious again. “However, if you’re late, it is disruptive to the class, so please try to be here on time. You’ll notice none of the classes start especially early, so you can always arrive early and put in some open studio time, if running late is a problem for anyone. That said, you will get out of this what you put into it. It’s all about brush miles,” she told them frankly. “If you want to be a great artist, you need to practice your craft. Unfortunately, as Michelangelo so aptly wrote, ‘If people knew how hard I worked, they wouldn't like what I do.’ Any other questions?”

Since no one spoke up, Carol paused. She looked at them differently this time, Therese thought, fondly - like a proud mother whose children have all come home for the holidays.

With a wave of her hand, Carol set them free with, “We’ll be here for awhile if you do have any questions, but you are welcome to stay as long as you like. Make yourselves at home.”

* * *

 


	4. Flying Solo

Three easels out of the ten were already in use, two of them larger than the others. In front of the easels, neatly cut lines of masking tape marked designated points on the floor. Similarly cut strips of bright green masking tape marked unknown but likely meaningful points on the model stand.

Therese assumed the two easels must be Carol’s and Abby’s, half painted canvases pinned against their masts, sketchy lines marking a figure’s outline, one on a white canvas and the other against a rust-colored background that looked like it had been rubbed on with a cloth. While both paintings were obviously of the same model, the approaches each artist had taken was visibly different. She wondered which one was Carol’s.

Therese chose an empty easel to the left side of one of the larger easels. The dark-haired woman named Genevieve had taken the next station, so Dannie moved to the easel station next to that.

After running her hands along the taboret’s lacquered top and opening the drawers and cupboard below, Therese unzipped her backpack. An excited hum had filled the room as the students chose their spots and put away their supplies. It reminded Therese of the excitement she felt as a child on the first day of school when the box of crayons had that unmistakably fresh smell, the tip of each brightly-colored wax stick flawlessly formed and crying out to be used, their perfection brilliant and fleeting.

She heard Dannie ask her, “Do you think we need to bring our own palettes?” Therese never had the chance to reply to the question, overheard by Abby.

“Oh, I forgot!” Abby raised her voice so she could be heard over the din. “There are palettes in the right supply closet. The rectangular wooden or glass palettes fit on the top of the taborets or you may use an oval, hand-held wooden palette if that’s what you prefer. You don’t have to choose a palette now, but I do recommend the glass palettes. They clean up the easiest with a razor blade.”

Therese heard some of the students rush toward the supply closet. She reached inside her backpack and took out its heaviest contents. Therese set down a gallon-sized plastic bag filled with brand new tubes of artist grade oil paints in specific colors that they had been instructed to purchase. She removed each tube and laid them out in a row inside one of the shallow drawers. Even their names brought her joy this morning: ultramarine blue, dioxazine purple, alizarin crimson. Next, she pulled out a handful of new bristle brushes secured with a rubber band and laid them on top of the taboret. A similar but smaller group of softer, sable brushes joined them. She withdrew the remaining items from her bag and set the backpack down at her feet. She laid two wooden-handled palette knives side by side and set two aluminum palette cups for mediums next to them. The last item in her hand was a jar containing a round cake of brush soap.

“So is it Andrew?” a voice behind her asked quietly. She turned to see Carol holding a roll of paper towels in one hand and a bag of them in the other.

“Andrew?” Therese asked scowling, not following her.

“Your son. Is Andy short for Andrew? I assume Andy isn’t his given name, right?” Carol inquired again, her blue eyes searching for unknown answers.

“Oh, it’s actually short for Anders,” Therese explained, having caught up to the conversation.

“That’s an uncommon name. Is it a family name?” Carol asked in what appeared to be a valiant attempt to extend the conversation.

“No,” Therese replied, shaking her head. “He’s named after his father’s favorite artist.”

“Oh… oh, I see,” Carol said, looking slightly flustered, the answer obviously different from what she had expected. “Here you go,” she finally offered, holding out the roll of paper towels.

Before Therese could take it, Carol moved beside her, their arms nearly touching. Therese could smell her perfume. It was the same scent that had clouded her mind in the elevator.

“It goes here,” Carol said, putting down the plastic bag containing four more rolls to unfasten a chain on the side of the taboret. Therese watched as her coral-colored nails slipped the chain through the roll and then reattached it to the end of her station. “There,” Carol said with finality, yet still standing there as if she was waiting for something.

“Thanks,” Therese said, turning the jar of soap nervously in her hands.

“Excellent choices,” Carol said to her, looking at the array of supplies Therese had laid out. She reached out and felt the soft sable hairs on one of the brushes with one painted fingertip. “These Rosemary & Co. brushes are some of my favorites. I’m glad you decided to go with them. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. It's difficult to put a price on quality.”

 _How do you respond when someone compliments your brushes?_ Therese thought. After all, they had just been some of the recommended brushes mentioned in the welcome letter as being suitable. Originally, she had thought that getting them sent to her all the way from England was a little much, but as soon as she opened the package and snapped the hog hair bristles against her palm and felt the silky sable between her fingertips, she was happy she had.

“Thank you,” she murmured, unable to come up with anything better. Carol smiled and picked up the bag of remaining paper towels.

Therese had remembered a Painting 101 professor exclaiming the virtues of using quality materials. “Painting is hard enough,” he had said, “without fighting with your tools.” So Therese had spent a little more money knowing that it would help her in the end. And now suddenly Therese was even happier she had gone to the extra effort.

“Oh!” Carol swung back around, nearly coming face to face with Therese who had taken a step forward. She abruptly put her hand out on Therese’s shoulder to avoid a collision. Shaken, they stared at each other a moment before Carol stumbled on. “If you want, you’re welcome to bring Andy when you do your volunteer hours. I don’t want you to have to be apart from him any more than you have to. He’ll have a ball in the big, empty space and I’m sure, charm potential customers.” Her hand remained on Therese’s shoulder, soft, warm fingers against thin bones.

And then Therese received one of her own: Carol winked at her. Therese felt herself blush profusely as she stammered another feeble ‘thank you’ before finding the graciousness to return Carol’s smile. With a squeeze of Therese’s shoulder, Carol moved on to give Genevieve her roll of paper towels. Therese reluctantly watched Carol walk away, her shoulder still humming with electricity.

 

* * *

 

“So, what’d you think?” Dannie asked her when they had exited the building.

“It’s nice,” Therese responded.

He scowled at her. “‘It’s nice?’ That’s all you got for me?”

“It’s really nice?” she said as a question, knowing she was being a brat, but also knowing where he was going with this.

“What did you think about everyone?” he pleaded, trying to get her to open up.

“Are you asking about anyone in particular?” she wanted to know, not ready to give in.

“Let’s start with Carol,” he said, grinning as they made their way back to the station.

 _Dammit,_ she thought. _Here we go already._ Her feet hit the sidewalk faster, trying to stay one step ahead of him to hide her face.

“She’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Dannie asked, trying to look at her, waiting for her agreement.

“I guess so,” Therese mumbled, desperately trying to avoid this conversation while attempting to hide her blushing face.

“You’re blind if you just ‘guess so,’” he frankly told her. “Phil tells me she was quite the up-and-coming artist a handful of years ago, supposedly destined to be the next great living master. Everyone who was anyone was certain of it. Then she got married and just sort of dropped off the map for a few years – personal troubles or something,” he disclosed.

“Let’s grab something to eat,” Therese suggested, changing the subject by catering to Dannie’s insatiable hunger.

 

* * *

 

Carol Aird, only five days into her 35th year, settled down on her couch with a glass of Cabernet. “Those two boys are going to be a handful,” she said, chuckling before she took a drink.

Abby looked up from behind the kitchen’s bar. “Who? Jack and Tommy? Yeah, they think they’re a comedic duo. I keep waiting for them to break out in some tap dancing routine,” she paused for effect, “right before I give them the Vaudeville hook.” She mimed the movement before pouring herself a bit more wine. She popped a cracker topped with brie into her mouth before joining Carol in the living room and lounging comfortably in a wing chair, bare feet propped up on the coffee table.

“What do you think about the girls?” Abby inquired over her wine glass.

“What do you mean?” Carol asked as she lowered her glass to the coffee table.

“What do you think I meant?” Abby asked, humorous annoyance in her voice. “Did you like them? Their personalities?”

“Of course. Didn’t you?” Carol retorted.

Abby just laughed, tossing her auburn hair from her face. “You act like this is an interrogation, Carol. I’m just making conversation. I like everyone so far. I think we have a fine group.”

“Oh, Abby. Everything just has to go well.” Carol sighed, pulling her now boot-free legs up under her and clutching a turquoise throw pillow to her torso.

Abby studied her a moment, thinking of the right way to encourage her friend. “It will. I’m certain of it. We vetted everyone as much as we could, the curriculum is planned out meticulously, we know what worked and didn’t work last year, and we have Phil to help.” Abby rewarded herself with a hefty gulp of wine.

“Yes,” Carol answered carefully. “But that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“So, tell me what you mean,” Abby prodded.

“Abby, you know I’ve poured everything I had into this dream. And now that we’ve been open a year and ironed out some of the wrinkles, I want to concentrate on what is really important: Art.”

Carol silently reflected how life in general had settled down with the divorce now final. She hoped that marked the final chapter of that story. She had known at some point she would have to address her personal life, for it was one of the sacrifices she had made for the atelier. She was hoping to start making amends in that department; she just didn’t think it was going to be this soon.

“So what is the problem?” Abby probed.

Carol was quiet for a long time. It sounded silly, one encounter having thrown her off her course. She debated whether even admitting it. However, the mutual trust between them won out in the end.

“I wasn’t expecting to be thrown a curveball like this,” Carol softly confided.

Her best friend stared at her, taking in the day’s events and the woman she knew so well. “Therese,” Abby simply stated.

“Therese,” Carol softly acknowledge, deriving pleasure just from saying her name aloud even despite being stunned Abby had read her like a book.

“I have to admit, I was surprised when she said she had a son,” Abby told her, crossing her legs.

“So was I,” Carol said forlornly. After a moment, she added, “His name real name is Anders. I asked.” She picked up her wine glass.

“That’s a strange name to name a child,” Abby opined.

“She said he’s named after his father’s favorite artist,” Carol revealed.

“Anders? As in Anders Zorn?” Abby asked Carol, her eyes narrowing, her interest fully piqued. “Did she say who the dad is?” Sitting up, she planted her bare feet on the floor.

“I didn’t ask,” Carol scoffed.

“So daddy likes realism, too?” Abby mused. When Carol didn’t respond, Abby seized the controls and flew the conversation solo. “I wonder if there are any other famous artists named Anders,” Abby mused, scooting to the edge of her seat. _Target in sight._ “I should look it up.” _Permission to engage. “_ Or maybe he's not even named after a famous artist,” she continued.

“All she said was that he was named after his dad’s favorite artist,” Carol restated, wishing she had never brought it up.

“That means the father is probably someone she met in art school.” Abby continued to ponder the subject on her own, her flight partner missing in action as Carol continued to evade taking part in the mission any further.

 

* * *

 

“Let me cut your banana for you,” Therese instructed her son, seeing his tiny hand starting to smash the half of a peeled banana he held, fingers digging into the soft yellow flesh.

“No.” Andy continued to gnaw on the wet and sticky end of the piece of fruit.

“Do you want some orange juice?” she asked him, sitting next to his high chair and brushing down his unruly dark hair that still showed the effects of his nap.

“No.” He continued munching on his banana, his chubby baby cheeks swollen like a chipmunk’s stuffed with nuts.

Her eyes fell on the syllabus laying face down on the table near her. It called to her, but she wanted to read through it when she had uninterrupted time later that night. Therese knew it outlined the curriculum for the semester, but it also held so much more. It gave her a better glimpse into Carol.

“When you’re done, we can read a book,” she suggested to her son, picking up a sticky bit of banana from the floor and setting it on the table out of his reach.

“No.”

“But you like books,” she reminded him.

“No,” he told her again shaking his head vigorously this time.

 _Do you know any other words?_ she thought. But as much as hearing ‘no’ all the time could get old, she was in awe of her little guy who was starting to use more and more words all the time. She loved as his thoughts became more available to her, especially as he began stringing two or three words together.

“Milk, please,” he said almost on cue around a mouthful of banana, surprising her. She looked into the big dark eyes she loved so much and smiled at him before standing up to fulfill his request.

* * *

 

They sat outside, enjoying the last of the twilight and the dregs of their second bottle of wine.

Carol remained silent, her eyes cast downward on the glass in her hand. Abby continued in a softer, kinder voice. “I saw how you look at her. Don’t pretend this isn’t a crucial bit of information. I was looking at your face when she said she had a son. I know you were hoping she batted for the other team.”

“We both know that her having a son has nothing to do with which team she ‘bats for,’” Carol retorted, hoping the blush on her cheeks was hidden in the evening’s dim light or could be blamed on the wine. Self-consciously, she traced the rim of her glass with one finger.

“The odds do swing slightly in one direction when a father is mentioned though, darling,” Abby hated to tell her. She swirled the crimson liquid in her glass.

“It doesn’t matter one way or another. She’s a student and I’m her instructor. Even if the road was smoothly paved, that’s a giant roadblock,” Carol said determinedly.

“Sure, in a traditional school. But this isn’t a traditional school and you work for yourself. Besides, it’s not like she’s underage. She has a college degree! And I seem to recall she took longer to get through college or took a year or two off or something. I think her application said she was 26. Do you want me to pull it out?” Abby asked her, starting to get up.

“No. There’s no reason to. She could be married, Abby!”

“She wasn’t wearing a ring. I checked,” Abby said, winking.

“You are incorrigible!” Carol playfully swatted at her leg.

“I was checking for you, you nitwit!” Abby swatted her back.

“What would Ruby think if she found out I was dating students, or even worse, her scholarship recipient?” Carol pointed out.

“How many students are you trying to date?” Abby asked with mock outrage, but then lowered her voice, “Because I didn’t think Miss National Guard was half bad,” Abby confessed. “So let’s not get greedy, okay?”

“Do you have _any_ boundaries?” Carol teased her as the first stars stood out in the evening sky, pinpricks of light on the dusky purple backdrop.

“Do you have any other lame excuses?” Abby dealt back. Swirling the wine in her glass in the opposite direction, she changed tactics. “I’m just saying don’t shut the door on her just yet, Carol.” Abby looked at the woman who was her best friend - regretfully _only_ her best friend. Always hoping they would be more, she nevertheless still cherished this most valuable relationship in her life. She had seen Carol withdraw over the last few years, focusing all her energy on the atelier in order to avoid having to focus on her personal life. Now that the divorce was finalized, Carol needed to start living life again.

“She seems nice,” Abby mused with sincerity.

However, it lasted but just a moment. A wicked grin played at her lips. “I’m so curious who the father is!”

 

* * *

 

Therese stepped out of the elevator, assuming she would be the first one to arrive, but the lights were already on. Movement in the kitchen caught her eye and Richard looked up from the coffee filters he was attempting to separate.

“Good morning!” he said too cheerily. She wished she could ignore him, but she needed to keep things civil while they both were students here. If Carol wanted a familial atmosphere, Therese would do her best to oblige her. If difficulties arose between her and Richard, she didn't want it to be because of any attitude on her part.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re here early.”

“I wanted to get a start on my sketchbook assignments and I figured it would be quiet here. It never is at my house, as you know.”

She did know. She knew all too well. His family was large and jovial and the laughter, jokes, banter, and decibel levels never seemed to subside.

“Want some coffee?” he inquired, as he scooped measured grounds into the paper filter.

“Sure, thanks,” she called back over her shoulder to him as she arrived at her easel. She had no sooner hung her jacket on the column near her station when the elevator signaled a new arrival.

“Good morning,” Carol greeted Richard as she breezed in wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a tan blouse, shirttails untucked. As she walked across the open room toward her office, Therese saw that her hair was still damp.

“Hello, Therese,” she said with a smile, stopping inside her office to deposit her bag. As the air current that had been floating along with Carol passed by Therese, she could suddenly smell the sweet, clean scent of Carol’s shampoo.

“Good morning, Carol,” Therese answered. She tried to look busy as she got out vine charcoal, white chalk, and a kneaded eraser from her taboret’s drawer. Unfortunately, her mind was busy wondering if Carol preferred to bathe or shower.

As she began to work on her drawing, her mind continued to stray. Then movement out of the corner of her eye swiftly pulled her from her reverie. She jumped to find Richard at her elbow with a mug of hot coffee in his right hand.

“Cream and sugar, just how you like it,” he stated confidently as Carol emerged from her office on her way towards the kitchen. And then he lifted his left hand and handed Therese a paperback book she instantly recognized. “And you left this at my place,” he announced in his annoyingly loud voice.

As Carol passed by them, Therese thought she saw Carol’s eyebrows raise slightly, but she couldn’t be sure since she tried to avoid direct eye contact with her. Glaring at Richard, she snatched the _The Goldfinch_ from his hand. “Thanks,” she said curtly. “You can just set the coffee down.” _Fucking Richard,_ she thought, a phrase that had echoed through her mind on more than one occasion.

“How’s Andy?” he continued, either unaware how much he was treading on thin ice, or perhaps even worse, knew and didn't care.

“Let. It. Go. Richard,” she punctuated through clenched teeth as nicely as she possibly could without imploding.

Surprise in his eyes and dragging his tail between his legs, he returned to the kitchen, passing by Carol on her way back to her office with a cup of steaming coffee.

As Carol neared Therese, she slowed down and softly asked, “Is everything all right?”

Looking up at Carol, Therese could see where the damp ends of Carol’s hair had created small translucent spots on the fabric of her shirt near her collarbone, causing it to stick to her skin. She forced herself to remember the question asked of her.

“It will be,” Therese said with conviction.

* * *

 


	5. Bold Strokes

_"You can tell when a painter is making progress when he [sic] begins to paint with colors that have no name." - Henri Hensche_

 

* * *

 

“That gorgeous redhead was working the counter at the bakery this morning,” Abby greeted Carol as she barged into her office and plopped a chocolate-filled croissant wrapped in a napkin on the desk in front of her. “So, of course I had to buy a bunch of stuff.” She made herself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of Carol’s desk as she wiped the cream filling off her lower lip from the donut she was eating with her finger and licked it clean. “I think she’s the owner.”

Carol reached for her croissant and peeled off a buttery layer and popped it into her mouth. “Did you ask her out yet?” she asked, quirking one eyebrow.

“Not yet,” Abby admitted. “I kind of want to try her snickerdoodles first. They might be a deal breaker.” The serious look on her face had Carol wondering how much of it was true.

“You’re awful,” Carol teased her, laughing.

“What? I like my sweets,” Abby retorted.

“So, ask her out and buy your snickerdoodles elsewhere if hers are terrible,” Carol suggested.

“Why buy the cow when you can …”

“ABBY!” Carol berated her, shaking her head.

Abby grinned as she was interrupted. She finished the last bite of her donut. “All I’m saying is that I want the whole package. What’s wrong with that?” she playfully asked Carol. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she mused, “Now I _do_ want some milk.”

“There’s some in the fridge,” Carol told her. “But before you go, I have some information that might interest you, Nancy Drew.”

“Do tell,” Abby urged, leaning forward and bouncing her crumpled napkin off the wall and into the trash can.

“I came in early this morning,” Carol said quietly, “and the only two people who were here were Therese and Richard. I saw him hand her a book that she ‘left at his place,’” Carol announced, waiting to see Abby’s reaction.

“IN-ter-est-ing!” Abby exclaimed quietly. “Did he say anything like ‘on my nightstand’ or something to that effect? Or ‘the one we were reading in bed’? Was it _The Joy of Sex_?” She stopped when Carol glared at her.

“No, but she didn’t seem too happy with him. Especially when he asked about her son,” Carol reported.

“How so?” Abby asked.

“She seemed irritated. She told him to ‘let it go’ and he dropped the subject right away.” Carol had gotten to the dark chocolate heart of the croissant and took a moment to savor it.

Abby stood up, brushing crumbs off her t-shirt and jeans. “Thank you for the informative briefing this morning. I will take the new evidence into consideration while contemplating my next move. I must go now. I have work to do.” With a twinkle in her eye and a mock salute, Abby turned and headed out of Carol’s office.

“Abby! Be good!” Carol pleaded. “And thanks for breakfast!” she called after her.

 

* * *

 

Jack exited the small elevator holding his bicycle standing upright on one wheel next to him. Lowering it with a bounce so both wheels were on the floor, he pushed it into the studio and stopped near the kitchen.

“Uh, Abby?” he asked her as she straightened up from the refrigerator holding a carton of 2% milk.

“Oh, hi, Jack.” She smiled.

“Is it okay if I store my bike inside? I’ve had two bikes stolen in the last year so I’d rather not lock it up outside unless I have to,” he explained to her.

She looked at the Trek resting under his hands. It looked like an expensive bike. “You can store it inside,” she said, nodding. She turned to reach for a glass.

“Is it okay to leave it in here somewhere or is it better to put it up with the stools on the third floor?” Jack asked her.

Surprised, it took her a moment to compute what he had asked. Turning back to him, she assured him, “No, somewhere in here is fine. Maybe over there against the wall,” she said, pointing to the northern wall.

Thanking her, he wheeled his bike over near the windows and leaned it gently against the bricks. Hanging his helmet on the handlebars, he felt someone next to him.

“I don’t think they want us up in the storage area.” Jeanette had approached him and spoke in a low tone. “I tried using both my key code and my card to access the third floor out of curiosity,” she said in a hushed voice. “Neither one of them worked.”

“I tried too,” Jack told her, taking off his gloves. “I came here late the other night to finish my sphere value study and I saw the third floor lights were on. I tried to go up to turn them off, but I couldn’t.”

Jeanette scowled.

“But it’s okay,” he told her. “I’d rather have my baby where I can see her anyway,” he said, lovingly patting the black, molded seat.

 

* * *

 

Therese thought that the morning’s class was one of the better ones she had ever endured. Her sketchbook cum notebook was quickly filling with information she had never been privileged to learn elsewhere, its pages a combination of notes, sketches, quotes, and ideas.

She was quickly coming to the conclusion that Carol Aird had more talent and knowledge regarding the subject in her little finger than most of her previous professors had combined. Abby was a great teacher, too, and quite talented in her own right, but Carol’s manner of teaching parted the clouds and made the sun shine through in crepuscular rays. She taught in a way that cultivated the seeds of inspiration alongside the necessary fundamentals. Carol had a magical way of making pigment suspended in a vehicle and painted on a canvas grow into something so much _more. At what point did it become something more?_ Therese wondered.

However, aside from the mesmerizing intellectual and artistic abilities she displayed, watching Carol stand at an easel and demonstrate, or stand at the whiteboard to write words like ‘penumbra’ or ‘esquisse’ in her neatly flowing handwriting captivated Therese more than it should. She appreciated the good fortune to be able to look at Carol, really _look_ at her, when Carol turned around to write or draw something. Already she was beginning to memorize every curve, every dip, every sway of the blonde hair or hips. Her mind fractured, she thought she must work twice as hard as anyone else during their lessons due to her inability to concentrate. _Distracted by the beauty of the human form,_ Therese tried to convince herself. _If I keep this up, I’m going to need a prescription for Ritalin._

Therese had tried to suppress her admiration in the beginning. She certainly didn’t want it to be obvious. But how could she _not_ look? Everyone knows you aren’t supposed to stare directly at the sun, but how else can you see the green flash at sunset?

The more she got to know Carol Aird, the more she wanted to know her.

“I know a great deli nearby. Want to grab some lunch?” Genevieve asked in an upbeat voice that broke Therese’s trance as the studio cleared out for the noon hour.

“Sure. I’m starving,” Therese agreed, putting her sketchbook in her taboret just as Carol emerged from her office.

“Want to join us for lunch, Carol?” Genevieve inquired, as Carol’s and Therese’s darted over one another. For one terrifying moment, Therese wasn’t sure if she wanted Carol to say yes or no.

“I’d love to,” Carol answered apologetically with a small smile, “but I have a standing lunch date on Friday’s.” Her eyes shone with excited anticipation.

Therese looked down, wondering who Carol’s mystery date was with. And not just _one_ date, but a _standing_ date. She pulled her wallet out from the drawer of her taboret.

“Next time then,” Genevieve offered, smiling. “Ready?” She turned to Therese.

“Yes.” The three women made their way across the studio.

Then they arrived in the foyer as the elevator opened and Tommy slid past them eating a falafel, the garlicky scent of the tahini wafting out of the elevator. Stepping in first, both Genevieve and Therese turned and held the doors for Carol.

“You two go ahead. I’ll take the stairs,” she said and pushed the armbar on the door to the stairwell.

 

* * *

 

“Soooo, Richard,” Abby stated as she sidled up to him as he looked through the supply cabinet for something. “How is everything going?”

He leaned back to see past the open door and looked at Abby who was leaning against the matching supply cabinet. “Um, fine. I’m just looking for a razor blade to sharpen my pencil.” He stuck his head back in.

“I meant, how are things working out?” she asked inquisitively. “Are you liking the classes so far?”

“Yeah,” she heard emanate from deep inside the supply cabinet. “Where are the razorblades?”

“Third shelf down.” She shook her head, annoyed that she didn’t have his full attention.

“Are you hoping to learn to paint in the style of another painter?” Abby dug deeper.

“No, I just want to be good,” she heard him say as he found the box of razor blades.

“But surely there’s an artist who inspires you,” she prodded, “whose style you wish you could emulate.”

“I guess if I had to, I’d have to pick… _Shit!_ I cut myself.” He withdrew his hand and looked at it as he held it out in front of him. Abby couldn’t see what he was talking about at first, but then a bright line of crimson liquid quickly started oozing from his index finger. “Are there any bandages?” he asked.

“In the first aid kit in the bathroom,” she told him, disappointed she didn’t obtain what she wanted. “Do you need help?

“No, thanks,” he tossed over his shoulder as he quickly walked away, his good hand cupped under his damaged finger.

 

* * *

 

“She’s my instructor,” Therese said adamantly. “It would be a conflict of interest.”

“You’re not an undergrad seducing your professor to get good grades. We have a critique-based system, not graded. You know that. And it’s not like you’re trying to date her because you need high marks here because you have plans to go on to some other program. Do you even see yourself going for more schooling after this?” Dannie asked.

“No,” she admitted, realizing he was making some valid points. Still, it _felt_ wrong – teacher and student.

“I’m a fellow student and I wouldn’t have any problem if you asked her out,” Dannie told her. “I can’t even think how favoritism might play into the scenario.” He looked across the living room at her from where he was man-spreading on the sofa with an open can of Tecate in his hand. “It’s already clear to everyone that you’re easily the most talented artist in our class. That’s why I encouraged you to apply for the scholarship last year. I just wanted one of us to receive it and you throwing your hat in the ring made it a lock.”

“That’s not true,” she mumbled, humbled by his praise.

“Yes, it is, and it’s kind of you to take over the utilities,” he added, tipping his head back to take a long gulp. She had offered, knowing he had to pay full tuition.

Dannie was a jack-of-all-trades at a framing store called Semco’s House of Frames. She loved when he came home scented with the warm smell of sawdust, often designing and building his own frames from scratch. He became friendly with the owner’s son when he had began working there a few years ago while in college. He had later introduced Richard to Therese.

“I wonder how she would view a student asking her out,” Therese wondered aloud, her thoughts quickly returning to Carol. “If she’s offended, it could make things uncomfortable.”

“Offended? Likely flattered,” Dannie chuckled. “Any man or woman would be lucky if you asked them out.”

“I have … ” She stopped, searching for the right words to describe the dark-haired angel sleeping in her room and decided to just call it like it was. Dannie wouldn’t judge her. “Baggage,” she choked out.

“Everyone has baggage,” replied the sage beer drinker. “Yours is just visible.” He stared at her with his eyebrows raised, no sign of giving up anytime soon.

“Fine. I’ll think about it,” she finally relented with a huff of breath.

 

* * *

 

Hitching Andy up higher on her hip, she punched in her code on the keypad next to the front door. With a buzz, Atelier Aird welcomed her.

“Therese!” Ruby greeted her enthusiastically. “And this must be Andy.” She bent down slightly to make eye contact with him. “So handsome,” she told Therese.

“Can you say hi?” Therese asked her son, but his only answer was to bury his face in her neck and avoid looking at the lady with the white streak in her dark hair. “He’s shy,” Therese apologized. “Thanks for letting me bring him. I could have gotten a sitter for my first day,” she started to say but was quickly cut off.

“Nonsense,” Ruby insisted, with a wave of her hand. “There’s no reason he can’t be here with you. This isn’t rocket science. And Carol absolutely insisted.”

Therese lowered the reluctant little boy to his feet. He stood with an arm wrapped around her knee. She pulled a plush ball out of her shoulder bag and dropped it on the floor in front of him, where it sank into a spherical lump, one side flattened where it met the floor. Needing no instruction, he clumsily swung his foot back and kicked it. He looked up at her and grinned. Letting go of his mother’s leg, he ran the short distance to the ball and repeated the process.

With Andy occupied, Therese and Ruby moved closer to the reception desk.

“This corner is a good place if you brought him more toys,” Ruby told her. “There’s hardly any traffic and you can see him.” She pointed toward a simple loveseat and small table.

“Thanks,” Therese said and pulled out a few books and cars and set them on the wooden floor near the low table.

“Your thank you card was lovely,” Ruby told her. “Even my husband was impressed and hardly anything impresses him. We’re lucky to have you here,” she said, smiling.

“I’m the fortunate one,” Therese assured her. “I’m just so happy to be here.”

“Good,” Ruby nodded. “Let’s get started. I’ll show you what to do if you make a sale.”

  

* * *

 

It didn’t take Therese long to realize the large easel to the right of hers was Carol’s. And while Carol didn’t work _right_ next to her, she was still only a few paces away, a fact Therese was always aware of. When she turned slightly to mix paint on her palette, she faced Carol, casting furtive glances her way.

She was just as conscious when Carol was in her glass office directly behind her. She wondered if Carol ever looked at _her_ . Every time she had turned around, Carol had been busy doing other things, but it was certainly possible. It would explain the sudden shivers that came out of nowhere and ran down her spine. _It serves me right,_ she thought. _Karma._ She had just chosen the first easel available without much thought to the feng shui of her growing attraction.

Therese was working on painting her color charts. Carol had told them one of the best ways to learn color mixing was to know how the colors on their palettes interacted. Therese was only on her first chart – cadmium yellow – but she had already learned so much. She meticulously mixed it with each of the colors on her palette and then tinted it by gradually added white to fill out her chart. Even the painting part was fairly easy. Carol had instructed them to grid pieces of canvas paper with thin lines of masking tape, so when the color was mixed, all she had to do was paint the little square. It was just time consuming. Therese was anxious to peel the lines of masking tape away to reveal the sharp, clean squares of color.

“Let me show you a little trick,” Carol told her, coming up quietly behind her as she carefully painted her square with a mixture of cadmium yellow, olive green, and titanium white. Carol put her hands on Therese’s waist gently and moved her aside. She picked up an offset palette knife and added more white to the mixture Therese had just used. When it was one homogenous color, Carol loaded some of the light green paint onto the back of the palette knife and swiped some of the mixture in the next square down in one confident, fluid stroke. “It will go much faster this way,” she explained.

“I didn’t think to use the knife,” Therese admitted honestly.

“Why should you? I forgot to tell everyone,” Carol quipped light-heartedly. With a smile, she flipped the palette knife around in her hand and offered the lacquered brown end to Therese with a tilt of her head.

Therese took the knife from her, but couldn’t help but grin at the way Carol had offered it. Carol took a step back and stood there, arms crossed, watching her. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Therese hesitantly used the tip of the knife to lift up more white paint. She mixed it into Carol’s pale avocado pile, immediately lowering both its value and chroma. Glancing up at Carol, she saw Carol nod ever-so-slightly. Scooping up some of the paint on the knife, she lifted it towards the gridded canvas paper.

“Like this.” Carol stepped forward and caught her wrist. Standing close behind her, she wrapped her hand over Therese’s and deposited the paint that was on the knife back on the palette. Still holding Therese’s hand, she turned the knife and pushed it against the paint, creating a ridge of color on the underside of the knife. “Use the bottom of knife,” she said as she lifted their hands toward the grid, “and it’s much easier to make your mark.” Together, with Carol’s warm, smooth hand enveloping hers, they made one bold, downward stroke that left a swatch of very light green paint on the gridded paper and an invisible, indelible mark on Therese’s soul.

At some point, Carol somewhat reluctantly let go of Therese’s hand, her fingers lightly lingering against Therese’s skin for a brief instant. It didn’t matter. Time had stood still.

With a cautious glance at her, Carol asked softly, “Better?”

Therese swallowed, willing the lump in her throat to head south. “Yes, I like that much better. Thank you,” she added.

“Of course, darling,” Carol whispered and moved away before calling all the other students over to Gen’s station to demonstrate her knife trick.

* * *

 


	6. Just Like You

****Abby lifted the large canvas onto the workbench and carefully laid it facing up, the lively and vibrant colors bouncing off her white shirt. She picked different frame moldings off the wall and slid them in flush to the corner of the stretcher bars, standing back to determine if the characteristics of each one would enhance or detract from the painting. Choosing the right frame for the painting was imperative, she knew. Carol wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than perfection for a piece of this magnitude. Coupled with the fact that Carol planned to hang it where she would see it everyday, Abby wondered if success in this endeavor was even possible.

“What’s this?” Jack asked, startling her by peering over her shoulder and asking his question directly in her ear.

Slightly irked, she took a step away to re-establish her personal space that he had just invaded. “It’s a painting,” she replied perceptively, still annoyed that he had disrupted her thought process.

“Swell painting. I’ve always loved abstract art. I find it enjoyable to look at, even if I don’t care to paint that way,” he continued, oblivious to her vexation. “Although when I think about how loose and free artists like Pollock, Picasso, and Kiefer painted, I actually consider changing my style just because I think it would be less stress. But then again, what would I be doing here except throwing my money away?” he rambled, chuckling somewhat uncomfortably.

Abby considered it a rhetorical question and quietly took another piece of frame molding off the wall. She set the simple, wooden, floater-style frame against the edge of the canvas. _This may be the one._

His monologue continued as he stared at the vibrant, energetic array of shapes, swirls, drips, and splashes on the canvas before him.

“Wouldn’t it just be fun to throw a huge piece of canvas on the ground and fling paint at it?” He leaned forward on the workbench, getting comfortable for the long haul. “Stand on a ladder, drip it down from high above. Smear it around, step on it if you wanted, take out your aggression on it. How awesome would that be?”

She knew where she wanted to take _her_ aggression out. Using every ounce of restraint she could find within herself, Abby bit her tongue.

“Wait!” A realization hit him and his boyish enthusiasm faded. “Is this a famous painting?” he asked quietly, pushing himself off the workbench with both hands.

Glancing up at him, she saw his eyes grow wide. Her tongue firmly held between incisors, she just held his gaze.

This time he registered her reticence and his eyebrows shot up even further as his feeble brain spun and sputtered to fill in the blanks. He stood up suddenly. “Oh! No way! Really?” In a hushed, conspiratorial tone he inquired, “Where did she get it? At an auction, right? Yeah, she seems the type to buy it legit. Probably Sotheby’s,” he muttered, answering his own question. “That must have cost a lot of dough. But I hear she made out quite well in her divorce, so maybe that’s just chump change for her. Still, I’ve read paintings like that go for millions.”

Having heard enough and knowing that she needed to put a stop to Jack’s incessant ramblings and pseudo-knowledge of Carol’s private life based on no discernable source, she stood up to her full height and turned to face him.

“Jack, how is your cast painting going? You’re doing the Belvedere Torso, correct? Or are you going to become an abstract artist?” She ran the groove in her tongue against her teeth, the pain seeping in as the blood flow returned.

“Yeah, I’m working on the Belvedere. So far I’ve just transferred my drawing to the canvas.” He looked back at her sheepishly. “I’m just kidding about being an abstract artist.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m going to be the next Sargent!” he said with a cocky lift of his chin.

The instructor in her woke from its slumber and reared its head. _Enough is enough._

“Well, Sargent would have been wearing a three-piece suit while attacking his painting like a madman instead of standing here talking to me,” she challenged, looking at his Bermuda shorts and flip flops that were actually fine for the studio, but she wanted to make a point.

Jack nodded his head meekly, finally receiving her blatant hint loud and clear.

“I should go start my underpainting,” he concurred.

“That would be a good idea,” she agreed.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “Carol’s secret is safe with me.” He jerked his thumb toward the painting laying on the table. He reached out to gently run his finger along the canvas-covered stretcher bar. “I just wanted to say I got to touch it.” He grinned as he hurried away under her intense glare.

 

* * *

 

Abby reached over and plucked a blueberry from Carol’s half empty fruit bowl. “Take all you want. I’m finished,” Carol said, wiping her mouth with her napkin before folding it in quarters and laying it over the sticky remnants of her french toast. They had met at _Communitea_ for breakfast, a favorite spot within walking distance of the atelier.

“My bagel was actually really filling,” Abby told her. “The blueberry just called my name.” Carol’s breakfast had been sickeningly sweet and she kicked herself for not choosing something savory. Knowing herself like she did, she should have gone with her first instinct.

Without a word, a busser cleared their dirty plates away. The restaurant’s morning rush had subsided, most people already at work by this time. Abby’s class didn’t start for another 45 minutes, so they leisurely sipped their coffees.

“She’s talented.” Abby threw it out there with no introduction, but none was needed. Carol had already been thinking about Therese anyway.

“Yes,” Carol agreed. “She’s a very talented _student_.” The emphatic way Carol had said it would have deterred any normal person, but Abigail Gerhard was anything but normal.

“She’s more than that and you know it, Carol. Don’t blow what might be your chance,” Abby advised. “But that wasn’t where I was going with this. She’s _really_ talented. Therese has an aptitude I haven’t seen in a student in a long time. Not since I was in class with _you_ in Florence, if you want to know the truth,” Abby confessed, looking at her pointedly.

Carol brushed off the last part with a humble shake of her head. “She _is_ good,” Carol agreed. “I mean, we knew she was gifted from her portfolio, but the way she approaches her craft, the decisions she makes – you can’t teach that. And the way she listens and understands and asks questions – she could be something special.” Carol reflected on the woman who was quickly looking like a prodigy. Much like the coffee, the mere thought of Therese left her feeling warm and content, although it had little to do with art.

Abby just smiled knowingly. She was seeing a change in Carol, a visible warmth that suggested the embers were still burning, albeit low and covered in ash, but alive and potent all the same. All it would take was a certain breath of fresh air, one healthy dose of oxygen to start them aglow. As long as they still burned, they would alight when the time was right.

“I finished framing the painting,” she told Carol. “I think you’ll really like it.”

“Did you leave it on the workbench?” Carol asked in a worried tone.

“No, I hung it on the south wall to keep it safe,” Abby told her.

“Good.” Carol’s eyes lit up as she gave Abby an excited smile. “Finish your coffee so I can go see how it looks!”

  


* * *

 

“I wouldn’t want to own something that expensive. I’d constantly worry someone would steal it,” Jeanette opined quietly, her hand on her hip.

“That’s probably why she has all the cameras,” Richard interjected.

“I would,” volunteered Jack. “Maybe she didn’t buy it at an auction. I couldn’t get Abby to say for sure. She was being super secretive.” Shrugging, he continued, “What if it is off the black market? I’d want a high-tech security system with cameras too if I was dealing with known unscrupulous characters.”

The students stood in a loose group behind their easels, all of them looking at the framed abstract painting now adorning the wall between two of the large, southern windows. The southern blackout drapes were closed. A small light hanging above the painting directed its glow on the canvas, spotlighting the painting on the otherwise dim side of the room. The floater frame Abby had chosen accentuated the painting nicely without being a distraction. But like an elephant in the room, the painting had silently begged to be discussed, or at least that’s how Jack had felt. Unable to keep the information to himself any longer, he had let loose with the details of his interaction with Abby earlier in the week. Along with this, he wondered aloud about its provenance.

“If it was stolen art, why would she hang it right where everyone can see it then?” Therese asked pointedly, right at Jack. “Carol isn’t stupid. Besides, this all sounds a bit ridiculous anyway.”

“Personally, I don’t understand why someone would pay monstrous amounts of money for something like that,” Genevieve offered. “It just doesn’t appeal to me.” No longer interested in the conversation, she returned to her easel and taboret.

Therese followed her and they left the boys and Jeanette, who moved closer to the painting, to pontificate.

“Who do you think painted it?” Jeanette asked. “It kind of looks like a Miró with the funny little animal things down here and the dots,” she said, pointing. “But I’ve never seen a painting of his with swirls and splatters like this. That’s almost reminiscent of Kandinsky.”

“I don’t see a signature on it anywhere,” Richard said, his nose almost touching the canvas.

Tommy answered right away. “I think it’s a Pollock. Look at the drips and splashes.”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s weird enough to be a Picasso,” Jack guessed.

“No way. Not a chance.” Jeanette rolled her eyes at him. “Have you even seen a Picasso? Picasso was tighter than this, even if it was abstract,” Jeanette argued. “And this doesn’t have the geometrical elements that Picasso employed.”

“Not all of them do. Google it,” Jack retorted.

“I’m not saying you all have something better to do, but you all have something better to do,” Phil loudly suggested to deaf ears from back at his easel where he was rolling a kneaded eraser between his fingers.

“These sort of look like faces. Maybe it’s a Picabia,” Jeanette continued unconcerned.

“No,” both Phil and Dannie said in unison.

Ignoring everyone else, Richard was lifting the bottom of the canvas away from the wall. “I wonder if Abby installed a dust cover on the back.”

“Richard, be careful. Cameras,” Dannie warned in a low voice that acknowledged he wanted nothing to do with their caper as he turned to go back to his station.

“I’m just taking a peek. Maybe it’s signed on the back. If there is, we can probably find out how much it sold for at auction,” Richard mused as he began to lift the painting off the wall. Tommy stepped forward to help him.

Dannie arrived back at his easel just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Carol angrily demanded.

 

* * *

 

Carol stepped out the elevator with purpose and strode to where Jack, Richard, Jeanette, and Tommy were standing with the painting. Abby followed Carol out of the elevator, but hung back slightly. With a nod from Richard, Tommy helped him carefully hang the painting back on the wall before either of them could get a view of its reverse side.

“Sorry, Carol.” Richard slunk down a good two inches.

“We were just curious is all,” Jack interceded.

“What exactly were you so curious about that you couldn’t ask me?” Carol challenged, directing her attention toward Jack.

“Well, uh, we all were just …” he began.

“Not _all_ of us!” Genevieve loudly interrupted him from over at her easel. Carol took a moment to notice everyone else in the room, her eyes lingering on Therese just a moment longer than necessary.

Jack resumed, “Ok, some of us were wondering how much it cost and we thought if we could see a signature, we could figure it out. It’s not every day we get to see art like this.” He feebly attempted to justify their actions.

Bewildered, Carol looked at him from under lowered brows. “Art like this? I don’t understand.”

Raucous laughter behind her caused her to turn toward its source. Facing Abby, Carol jutted out a hip and put a hand on it. “Is something funny?”

While Carol’s attention was elsewhere, Therese took a moment to appreciate how Carol’s skirt draped smoothly over her hips. Her blonde hair curled just above her shoulders in perfect waves. Therese bit her lower lip, her painting momentarily forgotten.

“Indeed it is,” Abby answered, gasping for air. “This has snowballed even beyond my expectations.”

“Care to share?” Carol asked.

Wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, Abby tried to explain. “Jack,” Abby gestured toward the young man who would not meet her eyes as she tried to draw in a breath, “was quite interested in the painting the other day while I was framing it. He made a few assumptions and I just sort of let him think what he wanted to think rather than having a conversation with him while I was in the middle of something.”

Turning back to Jack, Carol quietly implored him, “And tell me what those assumptions were, Jack.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his flip flops, Jack shoved his hands deep in his pockets and answered meekly, “We knew it was a famous painting. We just didn’t know the artist.”

“Did you really?” Carol responded after letting his information soak in. “And you thought this might have been painted by whom?”

“Um, we weren’t sure. Maybe Pollock or, um, Miró among others,” he answered almost unintelligibly.

“How exactly do you think I would come into possession of a piece by one of those artists?” Carol inquired to nobody in particular, but Richard took the bait, much to Therese’s enjoyment.

“We assumed an auction house. We didn’t really think you would buy it off the black market,” Richard said earnestly.

“The black market!” Abby screeched, hysterically laughing. She bent over, crossing her legs and squeezing her thighs together tightly, grabbing onto Carol’s arm for support. Even Carol now had a smile on her face. She grinned at Therese who returned her smile tentatively.

“Exactly how much money do you think I’m bringing in with this school?” Carol rhetorically asked the room, her mood seeming more lighthearted now. Abby stood up, tears streaming down her cheeks and walked over to Phil’s easel to pull a paper towel off his roll to dab her eyes and face.

“We thought you made bank in your divorce,” Jack banally stated.

Even Carol laughed uproariously at this one. She and Abby shared a look as they both shook their heads in wonder.

“So … who IS the artist? Is he at least _kind_ of famous?” asked Jeanette cautiously, her curiosity unflappable. She and the three young men around her had yet to join in the laughter.

Carol looked at her seriously. “Jeanette, I would expect you especially to leave open the possibility that a _female_ could have painted this painting.”

This news sank in among the four still standing by the work of art. They exchanged surreptitious glances as they waited for Carol’s big reveal.

Carol threw her arm around Abby who had finished drying her eyes and now stood beside her. Flipping her blonde hair out of the way, Carol turned to look at Therese as she told the room, “The painting was done by Abby’s goddaughter – who is also known as my four year-old daughter Rindy. She painted it at preschool. It’s called, ‘Ants Eating a Picnic.’”

She turned to watch the realization of her news hit the quartet standing near the painting. Their eyes immediately went to the canvas. Speechless, they stood rooted to the spot as their prior conversations about the painting unfortunately came back to them like mocking echoes ricocheting around a canyon.

“Its value is inestimable to me,” she added quietly, “so let’s just leave it hanging on the wall, please.”

Carol stole one last glance at Therese as she chuckled and began to walk away. Carol’s eyes had lit up like the Fourth of July, whether from amusement or mention of her daughter, Therese didn’t know.

Therese grinned back at Carol, her smile spread ear-to-ear. _Carol has baggage, too._

“Remind me not to entrust you with any secrets, buddy!” Abby playfully slapped Jack on the back as the two women laughed heartily all the way to her office.

 

* * *

 

Ruby Robichek had been her mother’s best friend since before Carol had been born. Roommates at Bryn Mawr, their friendship had thrived for decades before Carol’s mother had passed away. Carol knew that Ruby felt the loss just as deeply as she did, and she was grateful whenever Ruby brought up stories of her mom, especially from times Carol hadn’t been privy to. Bored with her husband and never having had children of her own, Ruby now poured everything she had into charity work, arts organizations, and the striking woman she loved like a daughter.

When Carol began dating Hargess Aird, Ruby had not been impressed. “He tries too hard,” Ruby told her. “He’s never satisfied. He’s not right for you. How can you possibly make someone happy who doesn’t understand happiness?”

But Carol had been too wrapped up her the handsome man who showered her with attention and everything she wanted and things she didn’t know she did. Initially, she had relished letting him take care of things, never having to worry about anything. Soon after they married, Harge took care of the finances, their vacation plans, and just about every other decision in their lives. However, Carol soon learned though that the problem with giving up control is that it’s nearly impossible to get it back when you want it. So, when she began asking questions and voicing her opinion on issues, the relationship soured quickly. Unfortunately, by that time they already had conceived a daughter.

The downturn in the economy and significant losses for Harge’s business only added fuel to the fire. His glass of scotch at night turned into three or four, at least the ones Carol saw and counted. If he was unsatisfied, manipulative, and controlling while sober, there were much worse words to describe him when drunk. The angry alcoholic that raged and threatened bore little resemblance to the man she had dated. When his tirades made his hair askew and spittle fly, she had tried to shield her daughter from the worst of it, always hoping Rindy was too young to remember the traumatic episodes. Unfortunately on one cold night in February, the threats turned into reality, so Carol took her black eye, bruises, her young toddler and left.

Of course, leaving a controlling, angry alcoholic is never an easy task, but Carol had Ruby and Abby who had always stood by her side. The embarrassed and inebriated man showed up at both women’s homes looking for his wife, harassing and intimidating all involved until authorities came and ordered him to leave. These scenes happened with greater frequency, escalating over time, and eventually a restraining order had to be granted by a judge who warned Harge about the harsh repercussions of breaking it.

Ruby had even pushed a cashier’s check and an unsigned legal document on her attorney’s letterhead across the table during a brunch with Carol one weekend. Carol gaped at the amount and at the payee: Hargess Aird. However, even Ruby couldn’t pay Hargess Aird enough to go away. What he wanted was power: control over the situation and control over Carol.

Regrettably, Harge’s seeming lack of business sense _and_ common sense caused him to decline Ruby’s offer, a decision that would long haunt him. Lengthy divorce proceedings followed, but an agreement was finally reached that gave Carol the three things she had wanted: freedom, her daughter, and the old brick building that now housed her atelier. Carol had never been so happy to put her signature on a piece of paper, even if it meant signing the surname she had received from that man.

Carol often wondered if a discreet payment from Ruby was the reason her sole custody of Rindy went uncontested. Understandably, Harge had a lot of things working against him in the court with violence and alcoholism entered into the equation, but he didn’t even try for visitations, which greatly surprised Carol. _Some things are better left unknown,_ she thought. So instead she just gave thanks for the eventual outcome whenever she looked at her precious girl.

 

* * *

 

 _"_ _I have made it a rule that they [pupils] must bring me … their drawings, mind you, not their paintings._ _For a line never lies." - Rembrandt van Rijn_

 

“Ruby said Andy is absolutely adorable. The way she was gushing over him, be glad she didn’t take him home,” Carol said, coming up to Therese as she sat on one end of a sofa working on a sketchbook assignment.

“There are some days I wish she would!” Therese joked, looking up.

“You don’t mean that,” Carol chided gently, sitting nearly sideways on the front edge of the sofa’s cushion.

“No. I don’t,” Therese admitted, ignoring the drawing she had been working on. “But he sleeps through the night now or I might consider it,” she said, laughing.

“I heard he had a good time in the gallery. Kids seem to like the open floor space to play,” Carol continued, their knees just inches away, Therese noticed.

“I think the highlight of his day was taking off his shoes and sliding around in his socks,” Therese told her with a smile. “He had more fun doing that than playing with any of the books or toys I brought to keep him busy.”

Carol laid her hand palm down on the back of the couch, mindlessly brushing it back and forth. The movement and the close proximity distracted Therese. “She said he looks just like you.”

Trying to ignore the hand, Therese wondered if Ruby had volunteered this information or if Carol had asked. She knew which option she hoped it had been. “A lot of people think so. I think it’s the dark hair and the green eyes,” Therese explained. “Does your daughter like playing in the gallery, too?” she asked.

“She does. I think she considers it her personal ballet studio. I’ve never regretted having those hardwood floors installed,” Carol shared. “And she loves hanging out with Ruby. If Ruby makes a sale, she slips Rindy a couple dollars as her ‘commission,’ so the child thinks she hung the moon.”

“Does she look like you?” Therese asked suddenly.

If Carol was taken aback by the question, she recovered quickly. “And here I had mistaken quiet for shy,” she said under her breath. She stared at Therese for a brief moment as if seeing her for the first time. “A bit – around the eyes,” Carol said thoughtfully. “You’ll meet her soon.” With a quick smile, she switched topics. “How close are you to finishing this week’s sketchbook assignments?” Carol asked her, nodding toward the sketchbook in her lap.

“All I have left is the value sphere assignment,” Therese told her, looking down at the shaded sphere with its single light source. “It’s almost finished. I’m just cleaning things up.”

“Bring me your sketchbook when you’re finished with it. We’ll look at them together.” Carol stood up. “I’ll be in my office.”

* * *

 


	7. A Line Never Lies

****With a light touch of her pencil, Therese gently softened the transition between the halftone on her form and the terminator, making sure that the delineation wasn’t too harsh as to draw the eye unnecessarily to that area.

As she did so, she contemplated what Dannie had said. What if she asked Carol out and Carol wasn’t offended? The mere thought made her ridiculously giddy and she quashed the feeling immediately. What if Carol _was_ offended? Therese would risk untold embarrassment and classes could become uncomfortable for quite some time, perhaps always. _But at least you’d know,_ she told herself. She wouldn’t have to keep wondering if what she felt when Carol’s eyes met hers was reciprocated or if she was imagining it. One way or the other, she would have an answer. If the outcome was negative, then she had her art to concentrate on. If the outcome was anything else, then … then what? The giddiness reappeared, bursting like a train from a tunnel where it had only momentarily disappeared from sight.

She switched the gray, kneaded eraser that she had been warming in her left hand to her right. Smashing one end flat and then forming it into a blunt point, she cleaned up stray marks and fingerprints from the cream-colored paper. Signing her name quickly at the bottom, she closed her sketchbook and picked up her supplies.

Depositing everything but the sketchbook at her station, she stopped at Carol’s open office door. “May I come in?” she asked hesitantly.

Carol looked up from her laptop. “Please,” she said, motioning for Therese to come forward. She held out her hand for the sketchbook. “Come back in 10 minutes and we’ll talk.”

 

* * *

 

Carol opened the sketchbook and gasped. Flicking through the next few pages, she knew her initial reaction had been justified. The five pages of the sketchbook that had marks on them were not just sketches; they were finished, realized drawings. And they were excellent. The drawings were nuanced, gestural, alive. They leapt off the page. She picked up her stack of green post-it notes and began jotting down ideas for her critique.

Carol knew from experience that drawings like this weren’t completed in 30 minutes or an hour. Therese had put considerable time and effort into her work and it showed. The shading was subtle, the compositions advanced. She held up the page obliquely and allowed her eyes to rake across its finely textured surface. She didn’t see one instance where the pencil had been pushed too hard into the tooth of the paper creating a groove, a frequent habit of novice draughtsmen and women.

Writing simple reminders on her small green block, she then pulled the notes off and carefully attached a post-it on each page where it wouldn’t smudge the drawing.

_This woman_ , she thought, shaking her head. _Why does she have to be a student?_

 

* * *

 

Carol expected her back in her office soon. Therese thought about how the glassed-in space afforded her at least some privacy, a few moments alone with Carol possibly out of earshot of the others. She couldn’t really ask Carol to close her door. This was her chance and she knew it. If she wanted an answer, if she wanted to really _know_ , then this was the time to do it. _I’ll ask her out before I leave her office,_ Therese repeated to herself, a mantra to reinforce and build confidence.

Therese made her way to the restroom, brushing off Genevieve’s attempt at small talk along the way. She only had a few minutes and she wanted to splash cool water on her face and attempt to smooth her hair into some semblance of order. She could feel her heartbeats pick up their pace, soloing in double time to a song that sang inside her.

 

* * *

 

Therese reappeared in Carol’s doorway. “Come in,” Carol said, welcoming her. Therese moved around one of the chairs in front of Carol’s desk but before she could sit down, Carol waved her over. “Come stand next to me so we both can see,” she instructed her.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about something first,” Therese interrupted.

“First the sketchbook, then we’ll talk. Now, come over here.” Carol was adamant, focused. Therese meekly obeyed, the confidence she had been working on smashed to smithereens.

She made her way around Carol’s desk and stood beside her. She could see the individual hairs on Carol’s head, the slight silverish glimmer of a handful of them among the field of gold. She breathed in the smell of Carol, fresh and clean like petrichor after the rain. Carol’s slim fingers with their painted nails glided over the edges of the book, flipping the cover open to the first page. A bright green sticky note was attached.

“All of these are magnificent, Therese,” Carol told her. “Your commitment and effort shows.”

“Thank you. I enjoy drawing. It relaxes me,” Therese explained honestly but casually. However, deep down she was proud of her drawings. She had put extra effort into them and she was thrilled that Carol had noticed.

The post-it stuck on the first page had two words written on it: “reflected light.” Carol tapped it with her index finger. “My only advice on this one is to watch for reflective light from nearby objects and surfaces. Some of the light is going to bounce off the tabletop onto the underside of your object,” she told her, looking up at Therese. “So the value of the vase as it curves under will be lighter.”

Therese nodded. She knew that, but had forgotten to address it. She also knew she was dangerously close to those azure eyes. Carol continued, “But your ellipse is perfect and your shading is lovely here. You have an eye for values.” She pulled off the post-it and turned the page.

“Your drapery study is sublime,” Carol told her. Then she tapped green paper with the word “thickness” written on it with a finger. “Just remember when drawing folds, that the thickness and texture of the fabric is going to influence the curvature of triangular folds.” Carol looked at her, breaking from her critique for a moment. “Did you know that Ingres was so skilled at drawing and painting clothing that historians study his drawings to determine what fabrics people wore back then?”

“I didn’t know that,” Therese admitted, impressed. She had seen his works at the Met though, and it made sense. Ingres’ paintings were elegant, detailed, and perfectly depicted folds and fabrics. She wondered if Carol had stood gazing at the same paintings she had. Now that Therese could look at her own drawing with this insight, she saw that her triangular folds were too sharp, making the fabric look like it was a thin cotton sheet. Carol pushed a fingernail under the sticky note and pulled it off, piling it on top of the first one.

Carol turned the pages, alternating between effusive praise and helpful criticism. Therese took it all in, eager to receive both, for both had their purpose: one made her fly high and the other told her how much higher she could soar. As she stood within inches of Carol, receiving all of her attention, she didn’t want the critique to end, despite the fact she had a question lingering impatiently in the back of her mind.

With regret, she watched Carol turn to the last page. She glanced over her value sphere, looking for anything she might have missed. Not seeing any egregious errors stand out, her eyes traveled up to read what Carol had written on the post-it. This one had three words on it: “You, Me, Lunch?”

Therese leaned forward to see if what she had read was correct. It was. At first Therese didn't want to tear her eyes away from the note, afraid the words might disappear into nothingness. But she couldn’t help but look at Carol. Carol was watching her reaction, her face an exquisite picture of vulnerability.  Instinctively, Therese laid her hand on Carol’s back, right between her shoulder blades. Carol tensed slightly under the unexpected touch, then relaxed into it. Therese smiled, an understanding between them so concrete and profound no words were necessary. Carol’s face shone with pleasure before she broke their gaze and flicked the corner of the post-it note up with her fingernail.

“Leave that one,” Therese ordered gently and Carol obliged, her lips curving slightly at the corners.

“Now, what did you want to talk about?” Carol asked her.

Therese stepped back, removing her hand as quickly as the smile faded from her face. She wasn’t prepared for this. All she had practiced in her mind was useless now, the situation entirely different. So the answer she gave was refreshingly honest and unrehearsed: she laughed. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” she said, and pointed to the sticky note with its three wonderful words.

“Oh.” It was Carol’s turn to be surprised. “Oh!” And then the dawn broke over her face in a smile, genuine and childlike in its purity, its light cascading over hill and valley, illuminating the form of her strong cheekbones and lighting her eyes from within as the realization hit her.

“This one is yours,” Therese told her with a twinkle in her eye. “The next one is mine.”

 

* * *

 

Carol slipped a note into Therese’s hand before she returned to her easel. It asked Therese to meet her in the stairwell at 12:30. Unable to question the strange meeting place, Therese just returned to her station and tried to keep busy when she wasn’t watching the clock.

Just after noon, Dannie approached her, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “I’m starved, Belivet. Let’s go find some grub.”

Therese declined, murmuring she had things to do, much to Dannie’s surprise. He stood there like a young child who suddenly found himself alone in a department store, lost without her, unsure of which way to turn.

“I’m always up for grabbing some food,” Genevieve piped up from the next station over. “Plus, I need all the calories I can get with guard training.” Dannie immediately perked up, having found someone not to only accompany him, but someone willing to eat in the reverent, uncompromising manner he appreciated. They left together, debating the superior qualities of burgers versus cold cuts.

Therese looked around, but Carol had disappeared, her office empty, the door closed. Forcing herself to focus on why she was there, she set an alarm on her phone for 20 minutes and worked on sketching the initial envelope for her cast study, a marble bust of a Florentine girl. Once she had the polygon outlined, the cast would fit entirely within its border. She worked sight-size, the bust and her paper set up just so. When she stood at the masking tape marked line on her rug, the bust and the drawing would appear the same size.

As she imagined she was setting matchsticks along the outside of the cast, drawing straight lines only and focusing on angles, Abby came by to offer her a bit of advice.

“Hold your pencil up to match the angle you see. Imagine that angle pointing to the minutes on a clock. See how the line sloping from her ear to her shoulder lands at about the 37 minute mark on a clock?” Therese could indeed see, and found the suggestion extremely helpful when she tried to replicate the same angle on her paper.

“Have you seen Carol around?” Abby asked, glancing at Carol’s empty office. “She didn’t mention she was going anywhere.”

“I haven’t. Not for a little while,” Therese said, not actually lying, but omitting any extra details she might have, including the green note nearly vibrating with energy inside her pocket.

“Hmmm. She must have taken an early lunch,” Abby reckoned, retreating to her own office.

Shortly after her polygon was enclosed, Therese’s iPhone alarm vibrated. It was nearly 12:30. She took her wallet out of her taboret and slid it into her back pocket before she made her way to the stairwell.

Therese entered the stairwell, the heavy door swinging closed behind her. She wondered if she was supposed to wait there or walk down to the first floor when bright color in the otherwise drab environment caught her eye. Carol was leaning against the wall, her hands behind her.

“Hungry?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

* * *

 


	8. Reminder

******12:30 pm**

They stood in the stairway, Carol leaning against the wall, half a landing above Therese. Carol pushed herself away from the wall. “Follow me,” she said, beginning to climb the stairs.

“Wait - we’re not going to lunch?” Therese asked, glancing toward the set of stairs that led down.

“No worries. I’ll feed you,” Carol assured her, amused, and stretched out her hand.

Therese looked at it before she tentatively laid her own hand in the offered palm.

Carol closed her fingers around Therese’s. The hand she held in hers made her heart billow within her chest, a cumulonimbus cloud bursting with moisture, ready to baptize the land with glorious rain.

Carol led Therese. Up.

They passed the door marked with a black 3 decal and continued up another flight to a door marked “Roof Access”.  Carol punched a code into the keypad and the door beeped open, golden sunlight streaming into the gray stairwell. She released Therese’s hand and stood back, allowing Therese to walk through the door first.

Therese took a few steps into the bright sunlight and Carol followed her. The warmth from the rays bouncing off the rooftop were a revelatory surprise after the cold, gray stairwell. Carol watched as Therese stopped and stared at the blanket laid out on the rooftop, the wicker basket in the middle of it, and the bottle of wine standing next to that. Finally, she looked at Carol.

Carol shrugged, confident in her game plan. “Sometimes simple is the best.”

Therese grinned before kicking off her shoes and lowering herself onto the blanket. As she comfortably wrapped her arms around her knees, Carol noticed Therese close her eyes, take a deep breath, and exhale.

 _I’ve been working them too hard_ , Carol thought. _I should make the time to take them outside._ She opened the picnic basket and lifted out a wooden board containing a ploughman’s platter. On it were laid two kinds of cheese, dark crackers studded with pistachios, pink ribbons of prosciutto, a cut up apple, crimson and white rounds of thinly sliced capicola, cornichons, pecans, and half of a baguette.

“Why didn’t you change your name?”

Carol’s eyes flew up, the cloth napkins forgotten in her hand. The question was startling, out of place, and unexpected. “My name?”

“Your last name. When you got divorced. Why did you keep it?” Green eyes bore into hers, a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

“I kept it for a couple of reasons,” Carol began. “First of all, it’s just a name. I suppose I don’t give it as much importance as some people do.” She reached for the wine and uncorked it. “Secondly, I wanted my daughter and I to have the same name, and it seemed silly to change both.” She lifted two wine glasses from the basket and poured red wine into them as she spoke. “And finally, it was the name of the atelier. Not only do I like the alliteration, but I would have had to get everything redone: letterhead, business cards, the website, promotional materials. Understand?” she asked, looking up.

Therese nodded.

Carol handed her one of the glasses and sat back. “Do you have other questions?” It was apparent the food could wait.

“Why did you get divorced?” Therese blurted the question out as if she had seen her opening and wasn’t going to let it pass her by.

Carol sighed softly and wondered if she would ever truly be able to put those years in the past. “My husband and I didn’t get along.” She knew how understated it sounded, how simple, an explanation you would use to placate a small child. Therese was by no means a child, but could the complexities of years of a relationship easily be condensed into one concise answer? Did she really need to know _all_ the traumatic details? In an attempt to make amends, to show she _did_ have a willingness to share things with the woman before her, she added, “And I realized I didn’t want to be with a man.”

Therese threw a cracker into her mouth, picked up her wine glass, and took a drink.

“My turn,” Carol said, reaching for some prosciutto and wrapping it around a slice of apple. “How long were you and Richard together?”

“How did you know we were together?” Therese inquired sharply.

“The book,” Carol said simply.

“Oh. Yes.” Therese nodded, remembering. “Not a long time. Five or six months,” she admitted.

“What happened? If I may...” Carol asked softly.

Therese nodded, reaching into the wicker basket for the wooden handle of a knife she could see sticking out. “He decided he didn’t want to do the kid thing.” She met Carol’s eyes unapologetically before she began to slice the baguette. “So, I told him I didn’t need him.” She handed Carol a few slices of bread.

“He wasn’t upset?” Carol asked cautiously, digging into the cheese.

“He _changed his mind_ a little while later, but I decided I wasn’t going to put myself or my son through all that. I want Andy to have a good life, a stable life, with consistent people around him he knows and loves and who love him back.” Therese said it with a mother’s unwavering conviction.

“That’s all we ever want, isn’t it?” Carol drank from her glass and stretched her legs out, offering her face to the sun. She watched a plane high in the distance begin its transAtlantic journey.

“I’m sorry,” Therese apologized, “I know he’s your student and all.”

Carol waved it off like an uninvited fly to her picnic and picked up a cornichon. “You both handle yourselves professionally. I don’t see it being a problem.” Not only had she already seen that Therese could take care of herself when it came to Richard, but she could sense Therese’s reluctance to let any remaining open sores between her and Richard become an issue at the atelier.

They ate. The sun beat down on them, pinking the pale skin of Carol’s arms as the platter started to shows signs of a meal once enjoyed.

“Thank you. For this.” Therese gestured toward the picked over board. “It was nice. The next one is on me,” Therese said with a twinkle in her eye.

Carol adored the dimples that bracketed Therese’s smile, but it was nothing compared to the enjoyment she felt just being alone in Therese’s company. Their time had flown by, the afternoon’s session commencing soon. Carol felt the old desire to skip a class jump urgently to the forefront of her thoughts, not wanting their time alone to come to its end just yet, but that was much easier done when one was a student, not the instructor. The harsh reminder of their respective statuses left a dull taste in her mouth

“We better get down to class,” Carol said regretfully. “I’m going to clean this up. I’ll be right behind you.”

 

* * *

 

**1:25 pm**

“Missed you at lunch,” Genevieve greeted her, coming over from her station. “I had the most amazing sweet potato fries. I would have shared some with you though,” she said coyly.

Ignoring the flirtation, Therese just asked, “Oh, did Dannie take you to his favorite place?”

“He did. We both decided burgers sounded good.” Genevieve stood close by. “He’s a funny guy.”

Therese glanced over to where Dannie was laughing while lounging with Richard in the mini library, enjoying the last few minutes of their break.

“He’s great,” she agreed. Turning back to Gen, she sighed. “I’m going to be here late tonight. I have so much to finish after class.”

Gen nodded in agreement. “So do I. I need to finish one of my color charts, my cast study, and I haven’t even started two of my sketchbook assignments for the week. Cross your fingers Carol will cut class short and we’ll have more time to get everything done.”

Therese doubted Carol would cut anything short, nor did she necessarily want her to. Therese enjoyed their class time together and Carol seemed eager to make the best use of her time with her students. When she wasn’t lecturing, if you could call it that, she gathered all the students around her and demonstrated. Even when she let them loose to work on certain tasks, she constantly circled around the room, paying each student individual attention, offering suggestions, giving advice, and asking critical questions.

As if on cue, Carol called all the students toward the couches and armchairs. “Gather round, folks. Bring your notebooks. Today we are going to talk about the Flemish Technique. It was used during the 17th century’s Dutch Golden Age and has been ever since.” Wheeling the whiteboard around, she uncapped a marker and wrote _imprimatura_ in large letters.

 

* * *

 

**1:12 am**

Carol stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. She regretted the cup of coffee she had had after dinner. Now all she had was time on her hands for her brain to spin recklessly round and round about why she couldn’t stop thinking about her. She played their lunchtime time together in her head over and over. Honestly, she thought the attraction was mutual, but she also knew that a person can be a poor judge of such things when faculties are so clouded.

Frustrated, she kicked the down-filled duvet to the side and got up. Maybe a glass of water or a spoonful of ice cream would help her settle down. Her bare feet skidded to a stop when she padded past the 32” flat screen tv showing the feeds from each of the atelier’s 18 high-definition surveillance cameras that sat on the desk between her bedroom and the kitchen. Movement caught her eye, unusual for this late hour. She glanced at the clock on the wall. _Quarter after 1:00._ She quickly sat down while clicking Camera 8 into fullscreen mode.

Peering at her monitor, she could clearly see Therese and Genevieve standing in close proximity. Genevieve brushed back Therese’s hair from her forehead and leaned in closer, closing any gap between them as bile rose in Carol’s throat. Her unblinking eyes never left the scene on the screen as Genevieve pressed her lips to Therese’s. Carol’s stomach lurched. After what seemed to Carol like an eternity, they broke apart, backed away slightly and continued talking closely. Smiles spread across their faces as they gently laughed while Carol’s heart pitched and dove. With Genevieve’s arm wrapped around Therese’s shoulders, they slowly strode toward the elevator.

 _This one will certainly be saved,_ Carol thought. _The next time I’m having such ridiculous thoughts, this video will be here to knock some sense back into me._

Carol’s opened the folder of temporary files for Camera 8, gave the file a new filename, and placed into a private, password-protected folder.

She named the file ‘ _Reminder_.’

 

 

  
  



	9. Grisaille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Grisaille: a term for a painting executed entirely in shades of gray_

**12:57 am Friday**

Using a razor blade scraper to clean the remaining paint off her glass palette, Therese wiped the blade on a paper towel and checked her hands for stray paint. She glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was almost 1:00 am. She had missed dinner, but she missed her son even more. He was growing up so fast, right before her eyes, and she hated being apart from him. But remembering how thrilled he had been to be able to stay at Aileen’s place where Therese knew he was safe, loved, and currently asleep made her feel somewhat better.

Turning to the only other remaining person in the room, she asked Genevieve, “Are you walking out soon? I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

Genevieve answered without looking up from her painting. One hand held the base of her mahl stick as it leaned against the top of the stretcher bar and steadied her painting hand. “I need about ten minutes and then we can walk out together.”

“Sounds good,” Therese answered. She took a few minutes to tidy her taboret, place her palette and brushes in the freezer, and empty the garbage can at her station, placing the oily paper towels in a fireproof container. When finished, she took a moment and stood back from her painting, looking at it from a distance as a whole, not from a few inches away, as artists often fall prey to. Her values looked good, cohesive. She didn’t think she had overmodeled. However, she could see now that she needed to soften the edges that she wanted to recede into the background plane even more. The subtle, nuanced touches she had given them were imperceptible at this distance and they would have to be reworked tomorrow.

“It’s lovely,” Genevieve said quietly, having silently come up right beside her.

“Thank you,” Therese answered. “I tend to only see the things I need to fix.”

“We all do when it comes to our art,” replied Genevieve. “We are our own worst critics. That’s why we need each other to point out when we do something right,” she said thoughtfully. “But if I had to point out everything you do right, we’d be here all night,” she added sweetly.

She ran her hand from Therese’s shoulder down to her elbow where she continued to keep it. Therese stared at her painting, unable to find the correct verbal response or look Genevieve in the eye. She felt the sudden need to run or at least to put some distance between them.

“Ready?” Genevieve asked, finally letting go of her arm.

“Yes.”

“I just need to grab my stuff and I’ll meet you by the elevator,” Genevieve said.

Therese picked up her jacket hanging on a hook on the column nearest her easel. She shrugged into it as she made her way across the studio and wondered if Genevieve was just being friendly while giving her the compliment. She watched Genevieve put a few things into her bag before falling in step beside her.

As they crossed through the open doorway into the foyer housing the elevator, Genevieve again caught hold of Therese’s elbow. “Wait.”

Therese stopped and faced her, unsure of what was wrong.

Genevieve let go of Therese’s arm and took a step closer to her. Her fingers reached up and softly brushed a lock of hair away from Therese’s face. “I’m not sure when I’ll get another chance,” she whispered as she leaned in and kissed her, her hand settling on Therese’s lower back and pulling her closer.

Stunned by what was happening, it took a moment for Therese to react. “Gen,” she began, breaking the kiss before it really got started. She backed away slightly. “Gen,” she repeated, unsure of how to handle the awkwardness of the situation. She took a deep breath. “You’re a good friend. I care a great deal for you, but I don’t think I feel the same way you do.” She saw the disappointment register in her friend’s eyes.

Blushing, Genevieve smiled apologetically. “I was afraid of that, but I figured this was the time to find out for sure. Now I know,” she said with obvious regret.

Therese looked at her friend adoringly. “The person who does feel the same way for you as you do them, what a lucky person she will be. She just doesn’t know it yet.” Therese smiled at her, letting her know no harm was done.

Genevieve laughed quietly. “You always know the right things to say,” she said as she put her arm around Therese’s shoulders as they again made their way to the elevator doors. “Thank you.”

As they stood there waiting for the elevator to ascend from the first floor, the knowledge of the cameras flashed through Therese’s mind. She didn’t want to be obvious and look up to see where they were and if they might have caught the encounter. She just mentally crossed her fingers that they were pointed in another direction and hoped the time was late enough that nobody would be looking at what any cameras might have captured anyway.

Instead, she thought about how the kiss that still lingered on her lips had felt. _Kissing a woman is… soft, nice,_ she marveled.

It just hadn’t been with the woman she wanted to kiss.

 

* * *

 

**9:30 am Friday**

Each student stood in front of his or her single-mast easel. Most were in the process of mixing the correct proportion of burnt umber and ultramarine blue on their palettes to create the chromatic black that they would be using to make the nine values of gray for their grisaille.

“Make enough of each value so that they’re ready to go and you don’t have to do this each time you start a painting,” Abby instructed the class. “And remember, we squint to see value and open our eyes wide to see color.” She set down a large but lightweight box on the model stand in the middle of the ring of stations. “I’m putting this box of empty tubes on the table here. Once your mixtures are correct, put them in the tubes and crimp the ends shut. In the future, you can also lay out your gray values at the top of your palette as a reference and to neutralize other colors.”

“Should we label the tubes before or after?” asked Richard.

“I like to label each one immediately after I fill it so I can also swipe a streak of the paint on the outside of the tube as a reminder of what that value looks like. I find it more helpful than just seeing ‘6’ or ‘7’ when starting out. And don’t forget to tube your chromatic black. You should end up with 10 tubes, people.”

“Why can't we just use ivory black from a tube to make our grays?” Tommy asked. “It would be a lot faster,” he grumbled.

“Does anyone know?” Abby asked the class.

“Because ivory black is a cool color and depending on the brand you use, the temperature of the black can vary. By mixing our own, we can assure it is a neutral black,” Therese spoke up quietly yet confidently when no one else did.

“Very good, Therese. That's right.” Abby bestowed a smile upon her.

A ding sounded. Carol walked briskly into the studio through the open doors of the elevator and assessed the scene before her as she made her way to her office. Without as much as a good morning to anyone, she slung her bag from one shoulder to the other.

“Genevieve, your halftones should be in the 2 to 3 range on the value scale, not 5 or 6. Are you matching your paint to the Munsell chips?” she asked without breaking stride, even though she already knew the answer.

“N-not yet,” Genevieve stammered.

“I can’t imagine why you aren’t,” Carol admonished over her shoulder. “I’m going to assume your instructor hasn’t neglected to mention that important fact this morning. Why waste your time and paint by taking shortcuts?” Her tone caused most students to look up from what they were doing. Even Abby stared at her, though Carol’s eyes met no one else’s. Only Jack remained oblivious to the mood that had darkened the room like a cloud in front of the sun as he shoved a load of paint into an empty tube with a palette knife. Carol flew past Therese without a glance.

“It’s somebody’s time of the month,” muttered Richard, drawing glares from all the women around him. He quickly dropped his gaze, closed his mouth, and resumed mixing paint.

Therese continued to stare at Carol’s retreating back as she entered her office. This wasn’t the Carol Therese had come to know and she wondered what was causing the sudden change in her behavior. Carol had been so calm, so carefree during their lunch on the roof yesterday.

The jovial atmosphere that had existed in the studio had dissipated, wrung out like a dirty, gray dishcloth. Therese usually felt such joy being in what she considered her second home, but Carol’s blue mood had dampened it. She loved learning, being immersed in painting, in the history, in the challenge of it surrounded by people who all felt similarly. But today that joyous feeling had been replaced by what suddenly felt like… work. Sighing, Therese used the back of her palette knife to smear the pile of ultramarine blue into the three piles of burnt umber next to it.

And then a terrible thought occurred to her. Last night’s scene had indeed been caught on camera and it had not gone unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

Abby quietly closed Carol’s office door with the toe of her red Chuck Taylor’s. She set down one of two mugs of steaming coffee on Carol’s desk. Carol looked up from her open bag at her feet where she was digging out her sketchbook.

“Parking ticket?” Abby inquired. _Blow. Sip._ She dropped into the leather armchair in front of Carol’s desk.

“No. Why?” Carol scowled at her.

“Jury duty?” _Blow. Sip._

“No.” Carol stared directly at her now.

“A yeast infection?” Abby raised an eyebrow.

“NO. What is your point, Abigail?” Carol inquired, slightly agitated.

“Well, you certainly haven’t gotten laid. That much is certain judging by your mood.” Abby raised her mug to her lips.

Carol went back to her sketchbook, flipping it open to the page she was looking for that was filled with sketches and notes. “Aren’t you clever?” she said more as a statement than a question.

“What’s going on with you?” Abby decided directness was needed.

“Nothing is going on with me,” Carol answered, far too quickly to be convincing.

“I know you, Carol Aird. And I also know you’re a terrible liar.” She leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on Carol’s desk. Carol eyed them with stormy blue eyes under raised eyebrows, but said nothing. _If she wants them moved, she needs to say so_ , thought Abby, and _then I’ll see just how irritable she really is._ “It’s not like you to question my teaching, even though I don’t give a care. I know I’m an excellent instructor.” Abby confidently wrapped her hands around her mug and set it on her sternum. “It’s also not like you to snap at a student five minutes into a lesson - a lesson _you’re_ not even teaching, may I point out.”

Carol sighed as she reached for the second mug and then sat back in her chair. “You’re right. I apologize for butting in on your lesson. I shouldn’t have said that,” she spoke thoughtfully. She blew across the top of the hot liquid and took a drink. But a switch seemed to flip in her head and her eyes held a fiery indignation that wasn’t there a moment ago. “But I stand by my statement. She should have been using her Munsell chips.”

“Something tells me this isn’t about Munsell chips at all, but you don’t seem in a real chatty mood, so I’ll go spend some time with my students.” Abby lowered her feet to the floor and stood up. Hesitating with one hand on the doorknob, Abby said quietly, “You can tell me when you’re ready, you know.”

“I know,” Carol said in almost a whisper as the raging fire in her eyes died and a faint but sad smile flickered across her face.

 

* * *

 

Therese rapped softly on the jam of Carol’s office door. “Do you have a minute?” she asked.

Carol glanced up from where she was reforming the bristles on newly washed brushes before laying them flat to dry. “I have one minute. What is it about?” she asked curtly.

“It’s about yesterday,” Therese began.

“Close the door,” Carol ordered, her eyes icy blue.

Therese stepped inside and closed the door. She laid her hands on the back of one of the chairs. “About yesterday,” Therese began again.

Carol interrupted her without making eye contact. “Yesterday was a nice chance to get to know one another. I like to have close relationships with all my students. Is there anything else?”

Obviously flustered, Therese stuttered out a response as she turned crimson. “I … It’s … j-just …” Whatever she had planned to say, she ended up swallowing, deciding to keep the information to herself. Instead, she breathed out a tortured, “No.” She turned around and rushed out of Carol’s office, past her easel and across the atelier, pushed open the door to stairwell, and pressed her forehead against the cold, gray wall and willed the tears to stay inside.

 

* * *

 

Carol tucked the baby-blue Frozen comforter around the elfin girl before sliding in bed next to her. Together, snuggled under images of Elsa and Olaf, they opened the book they had been reading every night before bed. As she picked up where she had left off in reading in _A Wrinkle in Time_ , Rindy crept in closer to her, a little hot water bottle against Carol’s side, to see the words she couldn’t quite yet make out herself.

Carol read the passages and turned the pages, her brain on autopilot. She didn’t have any awareness of the printed words entering or the verbal syntax exiting her past her lips. With great guilt, Carol recognized how she was regrettably no more than a robot who translated the text from the page into a format her daughter could understand. Carol knew she should be more mentally present for her daughter. However, her head swam with recent happenings, her heart with emotions that had been dormant for too long, but had recently sprouted in the presence of a certain warmth and light.

However, the tender shoots had been subjected to the darkness and the cold. The bitter frost burst their cell walls, destroying the life within. She thought about the adage that it was better to feel something than nothing, but based upon how she felt at that moment, she greatly doubted its veracity.

She knew she had been rude to Therese earlier. Carol had not only been unduly short with her, but she fabricated a reason for their lunch on the rooftop, and that she regretted. Therese had been hurt, that much had been apparent as she had bolted from Carol’s office. Hurt in a fashion and to a degree that had surprised Carol. But Carol was hurting, too, and hurt begets hurt in one of the cruelest of examples of vicious cycles. What she had seen on the camera’s feed still scrolled through her mind, a looping reel she couldn’t seem to be able to shut off.

What she couldn’t understand was why Therese had said she had planned to ask Carol to lunch. Was she asking platonically? She had to have been if she was involved with Genevieve, Carol thought. Or maybe Therese was just exploring _all_ her options. It didn’t make sense. Did the real answer lie somewhere in the middle? Perhaps not everything was black and white.

Her mindless intonation of the storybook in her hands changed. The words suddenly stood out in great clarity as one line struck her as powerfully profound:

> _It seemed to travel with her, to sweep her aloft in the power of song, so that she was moving in glory among the stars, and for a moment she, too, felt that the words Darkness and Light had no meaning, and only this melody was real._

_The world exists in shades of gray,_ Carol thought.

 

* * *

 

 

The task of making the morning coffee fell on Carol. She had purposely dropped Rindy off at preschool half an hour early in order to be one of the first to arrive at the atelier. Therese was usually one of the earlier arrivals, and if she could get a chance to speak with her without a crowd around either listening or watching, it was much preferred.

It wasn't like Carol had made herself get up early. Sleep had eluded her, like the cousin just a bit older at the family reunions she could never catch in a game of tag.

During her dark hours of contemplation, she had come to a conclusion: she would give Therese her chance to speak. She owed her that much. There were dual reasons for this. First, she couldn't ignore the fact that their time on the roof had been quite pleasant and she didn't think it was imagined. And secondly, if there was the slimmest chance she could be wrong about what had been captured by the camera, Carol wanted to be oh-so-very wrong. There was a third reason that Carol didn't want to admit, even to herself. Hurting Therese had caused a minor wound in Carol’s heart. It wasn't life-threatening, but it terrified her to think what might happen if it continued to bleed.

She had just poured her coffee when Therese entered wearing a charcoal gray hoodie. By the look on Therese’s face, she wasn't necessarily happy to see Carol, and Carol knew she deserved it.

“Good morning. Would you like some coffee?” Carol asked her.

“I'll get it. Thanks,” Therese said, continuing on to her station.  

Carol watched her, feeling the chill in Therese’s words sweep around her, a harbinger of what was to come.

Carol walked toward her office. _Like it or not, I'm still her instructor._ Stopping near Therese’s station, Carol chose a different route. “Please get yourself some coffee and come see me.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from Madeleine L’Engle's book _A Wrinkle in Time_.


	10. post umbra lux

Carol could see the indignation register on Therese’s face when she had asked her to get a coffee and join her in her office. Yet, despite Therese’s chilly countenance, she did as Carol requested.

Walking into Carol’s office, Therese put her untouched coffee mug down on the edge of Carol's desk and sat down rigidly in the armchair across from Carol, her back straight, not touching the soft, leather upholstery.

Carol looked down at her own fingers fidgeting on top of her desk. “I wanted to apologize to you.” She glanced up at Therese.

Therese shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.

“I was rude yesterday.” Carol held the eye contact his time, hoping to convey her sincerity.

“Am I allowed to talk today?” Therese boldly questioned.

“Of course,” Carol answered her, embarrassed by her previous day’s behavior.

“Why are you mad at me?” Therese asked quietly, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

Carol sighed. “I'm not mad,” she said, letting her head drop slightly. “I suppose … I suppose I was surprised.”

“Because you saw what happened.”

“Because I saw what happened,” Carol confirmed.

“You wouldn’t have been upset if you hadn’t been watching. Do you always spy on us?” Therese asked, her voice icy, unwavering, and hostile, her dark eyes a bottle green.

Taken aback, Carol didn't know how to respond at first, but then her own heated indignation took over. “I have every right to use those cameras. They are a security feature. You were all made aware of them the very first day.” She was painfully aware that Therese did not attempt to explain away what Carol had viewed on the camera.

“I think you just use them to babysit us and satisfy your voyeuristic impulses.” Therese ventured further out onto the thin ice despite the fire in Carol’s eyes threatening to melt it from right below her. Therese didn’t know why she had said it, the words escaping her lips before she could retract them.They flew out in an effort to protect, but ending up injuring in the process.

“This is _my_ school. I will use them as I see fit,” Carol annunciated hotly. They stared at each other, fire and ice, daring each other to be extinguished in a hiss of stubborn, blistering steam. Carol knew they might end up that way unless she decided to offer an explanation, an olive branch on which they might build a second chance.

She stood up and walked around her desk. “Come with me.” She continued out into the studio. Therese stood up and turned to watch her, but made no move to follow.

“Let's go.” Carol's statement, said with such finality, left little room for objection though Therese remained rooted to the spot, still in Carol’s office. As Carol pushed the button to call the elevator, she turned to Therese again. “Come with me?” she implored across the room, softer this time, a request versus an order.

This time, Therese moved. She walked slowly towards Carol across the studio, never breaking eye contact, her face a combination of cool disdain and bewildered apprehension.

The elevator opened to reveal Abby standing there.

Surprised to see two people waiting to get in at the early hour, Abby gave a start. “Whoa ... hi. Are you leaving?” she asked Carol as she exited the elevator, a mystified look on her face.

“We'll be back soon,” Carol told her nonchalantly. “I made coffee.”

“Um, okay. Thanks,” Abby said, glancing between them.

Carol stepped into the elevator and Therese followed, somewhat reluctantly. As the doors closed on Abby's confused face, Carol punched a code into the keypad and pushed the button for the third floor.

 

* * *

 

Therese had been livid. Carol had silenced her yesterday based on unfounded assumptions and unseen fears without the courtesy of giving Therese a chance at an explanation. She had insultingly dismissed their lunch on the rooftop as meaningless, and Therese wondered how much of it was true and how much of it was Carol simply building walls to protect herself. And despite Carol’s assertion that today’s talk was an apology, they weren’t off to much better of a start.

So they stood together in the elevator as it ascended, Therese catching scent of Carol’s perfume just like she had on her first day, and the disparity of the two situations depressed her.

The elevator doors opened into a beautifully furnished loft. It had the airiness of the atelier, but with plush carpeting in the living areas, handsome yet comfortable furniture, and all the early morning’s radiance streaming in through the tall windows. Carol extended her hand, motioning for Therese to enter. As they did, Therese noticed the faint smell of toast, a baby doll sitting up in the corner of one of the armchairs with a blanket neatly tucked around her legs, a small but fully-equipped kitchen surrounded on one side by a half-wall creating a counter with seating for four. An exception to the fairly clean and straightforward space, a child’s bright, crayon drawing was taped to the refrigerator. A long hallway ran the length of the building, doors both opened and closed on either of its sides. Halfway down the hallway stood a thin desk, more like a credenza, with a large screen on top of it showing the unmistakable grayscale images of security camera feeds.

“My ex- …” Carol spoke quietly, right next to Therese, with a calm that had not been present downstairs. “My ex-husband is not a nice man. That’s why there are security cameras.” She hesitated, seeming unsure of whether she should go on. “I have a restraining order, but Rindy and I live here and I’m not going to take any chances.”

“Carol.” Therese reached out the few inches that separated their hands at their sides and linked a few of her fingers with Carol’s. Carol’s gentle squeeze back was reassuring and thawed the ice Therese had harbored around her heart the last day. “You live here,” she repeated, still wrapping her head around the information.

Carol smiled at her weakly, suddenly looking tired and forlorn, the weight of the burdens she had been long carrying evident in her fatigue.

“Your ex ...” Therese tried to convey what she felt, how she wanted to take back her snarky voyeuristic comment, how she wanted to know and understand what this woman next to her had been through. But she had no words that were fitting, no bland statements or platitudes would do justice, so she just held the fingers intertwined with hers a bit tighter and ran her thumb over their tops.

“Now you know why,” Carol said softly.

The news changed things. Therese no longer felt any anger, just a need to finally give her explanation, not out of a desire to prove anything about herself, but rather as a _sine qua non_ to assuage the worries of the woman standing beside her. She turned to face Carol with a serenity she hadn’t known in quite some time.

“What you saw that night, on the cameras, was not what you think it was.” Therese looked, _really_ looked, at Carol to make sure Carol believed her. “I was probably more surprised than you.”

“You left. Together,” Carol stated, just barely above a whisper.

“No,” Therese calmly corrected her. “We walked out to our cars together after I told Gen I just wanted to be friends – that I didn’t feel that way about _her_ .” Therese watched carefully to see that her words were fully absorbed, if Carol would catch the slight emphasis she had put on the last word. Carol’s eyes widened, slightly, her breathing noticeably ragged. “I didn’t want _her_ to kiss me,” Therese confided so quietly that if she had not stepped so close to Carol, that Carol might not have heard it.

And then Therese raised her hand and laid her palm on Carol’s cheek, her little and ring fingers of her other hand still woven around Carol’s index and middle finger. She drew Carol’s head down to her and pressed their foreheads together. Unable to maintain focus, but reveling in every touch, every simple gesture, the warmth of a hand caressing a face, they both closed their eyes.

A new reel would soon replace the old one imprinted in Carol’s head. In this reel, Therese tentatively brushed their noses together, gently tipped Carol’s head ever-so-slightly with the hand still on her cheek, and allowed their lips to find each other. Carol’s free hand slid to its place on the back of Therese’s neck and they remained that way, connected together for the first time, until the bells of the Iglesia Ni Cristo church a block away chimed the quarter hour.

“You have class to get ready for,” Therese told her, breaking away breathlessly.

“So do you,” Carol answered, her eyes sparkling with delight.

 

* * *

 

When Carol had returned downstairs, a scowling Abby had greeted her with quite the questioning look. Carol’s slight shake of her head had been enough to let Abby know they would soon talk, but now was not the appropriate time.

Therese had gone to her easel, taking out her supplies for the continuation of Carol’s class on the Flemish Method. Today they would work on the third of the seven steps: the second umber underpainting. She unscrewed the tube of burnt umber and squeezed a nut-sized amount on her palette.

Carol placed the mug of coffee Therese had taken into her office earlier on her taboret. “I warmed it up for you,” she said with a timid smile, lightly touching Therese on her arm. Therese felt a warm glow emanate from inside her, caring little about the cup of coffee and everything about the woman who delivered it.

Carol stepped away and directed her voice at the entire room. “Today we’ll be creating the major value contrasts, darkening the darks and unifying our compositions. Gather around my easel and I’ll demonstrate.”

 

* * *

 

The morning’s class had gone well. Therese had finished her umber underpainting right before lunch and the canvas stood propped against the wall to dry. Switching gears for the afternoon, she set her easel up to work on finishing the drawing of the Bargue Plate she had chosen, the _Leg of Germanicus_.

Therese held her 4B pencil in her right hand, the graphite sharpened to a two-and-a-half inch long point, the wood meticulously shaved away with a razor blade. But it hung unused at her side, pointed at the floor. Her left hand held up an 18-inch long piece of black string with a hexagonal nut tied on its end at arm’s length. Closing one eye, she stood back from her drawing and her Bargue plate and used the plumb line to divide the Bargue plate vertically.

“What's that?” a sweet voice asked. As she turned around, Therese had to drop her line of sight in order to make eye contact with its owner. A young girl about four years old stood there, pointing at the plumb line still hanging from Therese's hand.

“It's … oh … it's a …” Therese began to explain.

“Rindy, don't bother Therese,” Carol chided her daughter from the door to her office.

“She's not bothering me,” Therese boldly interjected, looking directly at Carol. Saying nothing, Carol just crossed her arms and leaned against her office door’s frame.

Taking Therese's response as permission, Rindy tried again. “Is that a ring?” she asked, looking closely at the silver nut.

“It's called a nut,” Therese told the little girl, dropping to one knee and showing her.

“Why?” Rindy asked, giggling.

“I don't actually know,” Therese answered her with a dimpled smile. She knew Carol will watched them with interest without even having to look up.

“Why did you tie it on a string?” The questions kept coming.

“The nut is sort of heavy so it makes the string straight,” Therese explained. “That way I can check if other things are straight.” Moving next to Rindy, Therese showed the little girl how to use it, holding it up and aligning it with the vertical she had lightly sketched on her drawing.

“It helps you draw straight lines?” the little girl asked her.

“Well, I have to draw them the best I can, but this helps me check and see _if_ it's straight,” Therese tried to explain. Amused by Rindy’s interest, she asked, “Would you like me to make you one?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please.”

She followed Therese to her taboret. Therese opened a drawer and dug around for the other nut she knew was in there. With it in her palm, Therese walked to the supply closet to cut a length of string, She was hardly surprised to see her little shadow had followed her.

“There,” she said as she snipped off the excess string from where she had tied the knot. The nut dangled from the string in her hand. She tied a small loop on the other end of the string. Handing the inexpensive gift to Rindy, the little girl beamed a crooked smile up at Therese.

“Do you remember how to use it?” Therese asked her. “Can you check and see if this column is straight?” Therese put her hand on the column next to her that ran up to the ceiling.  

Rindy held the string up high in front her, one eye closed and nose scrunched up. “It’s straight,” she confirmed, her light brown hair bouncing as she nodded her head.

“Good,” Therese replied, “because it’s holding up the ceiling.” But the little girl had already started to measure something else. While holding the pendulous string and nut in front of her, she turned to where her mother still leaned one shoulder against the door frame.

“Mama, you're not straight!” Rindy exclaimed, causing a guffawing ruckus to emanate from the couch on which Abby was sitting leafing through an issue of _Plein Air_ magazine. Therese bit her lip as her eyes flashed to Carol’s face where a bloom of rose was quickly spreading across her cheeks. Their eyes met momentarily, Carol's eyes depicting something far from the humor Abby found in the child’s quip, something so powerful that Therese felt she needed to divert her own eyes from further witnessing it.

“Aunt Abby, stand up so I can see if you’re straight,” Rindy pleaded.

“I already know the answer, my darling!” Abby grinned, blowing a kiss at her goddaughter before going back to her magazine with a loud chuckle. A snort escaped from Gen, who had been listening to the exchange.

Carol quickly walked toward her daughter who was passionately trying to fit her finger into the silver nut and changed the subject. Placing a gentle hand in the back of the little girl’s neck, Carol asked her daughter, “What do you say to Therese?”

“Thank you,” Rindy said quietly, unable to read the silent conversations occurring between the adults in the room around her. Her finger too large for the threaded hole, she self-consciously twisted the dark string around her index finger instead.

“You're welcome,” Therese told Rindy, stealing a quick glance at Carol as she started to walk back to her easel.

“Thank you, Therese,” Carol said softly as she passed by.  

“Of course,” Therese answered, dimples appearing, her voice level but her spirits surprisingly buoyant.

 

* * *

 

Therese pulled the sheet of aluminum foil from the roll and tore it off, a crinkly metallic chord reverberating through the air. As she wiped excess paint off her brushes with a paper towel and carefully set them in the center of the foil, Abby passed by her and opened the refrigerator. She moved a few things around before pulling out a boysenberry Greek yogurt cup.

“Abby,” Carol said to her back, rushing up behind both of them. “I need a favor.” She wasn't the calm and collected Carol that had been seen earlier in the day. “I forgot tonight is the night I'm supposed to sit on that art history panel at Columbia. _Shit!_ Can Rindy stay with you for a few hours?”

Abby reached into a drawer for a spoon. “Carol, I can't. I'm sorry. I'm in charge of the live figure drawing class at the Art Students League tonight.”

Carol’s shoulders sank, remembering, a dismayed breath puffing past her lips in defeat.

“I'd take her with me,” Abby continued, peeling back the lid on her yogurt cup, “but she'd probably be bored and tonight's model is ...” She hesitated, eyes glancing around. “Well, he is pretty well-endowed and doesn't always hold still the entire time, if you know what I mean.” She quirked an eyebrow and grinned at Therese. Therese bit her lip, smiling.

“No, no. I'll figure something out,” Carol insisted, shaking her head. “I can't believe I forgot about this _fucking_ panel. I'd try to worm my way out of it, but I promised Ruby I'd be there.”

Rolling her brushes up in the aluminum foil, Therese spoke up casually. “She could stay at my place, if you want.” Her shoulders shrugged slightly, as she threw out the suggestion.

“Are you sure it's not an imposition?” Carol asked, already visibly relieved to have an option.

“Of course not,” Therese replied. “It's just me, Andy, and a pizza tonight.”

“You're a lifesaver,” Carol gushed, wrapping her arms around Therese’s shoulders.

Abby leaned back against the counter and ate her yogurt as she watched the exchange. She noticed the blood creep across Therese’s light skin and her dimples highlight her face as Carol pulled away. Therese quickly looked down at her aluminum brush roll and neatly folded one end shut.

“Does 6:30 work for you?” Carol asked.

“Anytime works for me,” Therese sincerely explained, meeting Carol’s eyes. “I'm headed home now. I'll write down my address for you before I go.”

“Just text it to me so I don't lose it. My number is on the phone list. I owe you one,” Carol told her, gently squeezing her arm before turning on her heel to head toward her office.

Abby tossed her empty yogurt cup into the garbage.

 

* * *

 

 _Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!_ Hands pressed down relentlessly on the levers that made the Hungry, Hungry Hippos gobble up the white marbles. They were playing their seventh or eighth game when the doorbell rang; Therese had lost track. Letting the children finish the round without her, she got up from the floor to let Carol in.

“Hi,” Therese greeted her, standing back and allowing her to enter the small apartment.

“Hi. How was she?” Carol inquired above the racket, as Rindy and Andy tried for the last marbles.

“She’s an angel,” Therese told Carol. “She’s so good with him.”

Carol stood there in her jacket watching the children. Rindy was consumed with the game and had yet to notice her. Therese thought Carol appeared tired.

“Have you eaten?” Therese asked her. “Why don’t you take your coat off and I’ll heat you up some pizza?”

“Actually … _actually_ , I _haven’t_ eaten. That sounds wonderful. Are you sure we’re not keeping you from something?” Carol hastened to add.

“Not at all,” Therese assured her. “Do you mind keeping an eye on him for a minute? He’s usually pretty good with the marbles, but just in case.”

“I’ll watch them,” Carol told her, taking off her jacket. Therese saw her lay a hand on her daughter’s hair before she sat down on the sofa in front of them.

“I have wine and beer,” Therese offered.

“Beer, please,” Carol replied with a smile before Therese retreated to the kitchen to heat up some pizza for her.

Pizza warming, she returned with a beer and a glass. She set them on the coffee table near Carol.

“Thank you,” Carol told her, reaching forward and picking up the bottle. She tipped her head back and took a long swig before pouring the remaining beer into the glass.

Having had enough of the distracting hippo noise, Therese waited for the current game to end and then lifted the game into the box. “Okay, let’s play something different,” she suggested. “Andy, where are your train tracks? Why don’t you show Rindy your train?”

Andy stood up and walked over to a corner of the living room where a shelf of cubbies held different colored baskets of toys and books. Finally noticing Carol, he became suddenly shy, standing there staring at her, his thumb in his mouth. Rindy, however, began looking in the baskets for train tracks and when she found the right one, she lifted the heavy basket to the floor, a loud groan emanating from her little body. She began pulling tracks out and snapping them together and Andy came and squatted on his haunches beside her, though his eyes remained on Carol.  

“Help me, Andy,” the little girl implored him. Although still distracted by Carol, Andy used his free hand to start pulling out train cars and a little red engine, setting them down on the carpet in front of him.

As Carol watched them set up the track, Therese brought her a plate with two pizza slices, a knife and fork, and a napkin. “Are you okay eating in here?” Therese asked her. “You’re welcome to eat at the table, but if you’re comfortable, this is fine too. I brought you a knife and fork just in case you need them.” _Stop talking,_ she ordered herself, sitting down next to Carol on the couch.

“Thank you,” Carol said, taking the plate. “This is wonderful. I’m enjoying watching them.” She dug into her first slice hungrily, ignoring the fork and knife and just folding the slice over before lifting it to her mouth. The moan that emanated from Carol surprised Therese and she giggled, causing them both to erupt in further giggles.

“It _is_ good,” Therese admitted. “I ate three slices.”

Therese looked at her son, who was watching them both intently. Rindy had almost completed a closed ring of track, but when she noticed additional lengths of track remained, she took a few pieces off to make it even bigger.

They sat quietly while Carol finished her second piece of pizza and washed it down with a gulp of beer. “I _was_ hungry,” she admitted.

“More?” Therese asked her.

“No, thank you. We really should be going. It’s getting close to bedtime,” Carol mused.

Therese stood up to take Carol’s plate to the kitchen.

“That hit the spot. Thank you, Therese. Now we’re even.”

“Even?” Therese asked, bewildered.

“I fed you once and now you’ve fed me,” Carol explained.

“Oh, that did _not_ count as my turn!” Therese was adamant, petulant even, not about to have the opportunity be taken away from her. “No, I will come up with something better than this,” she declared, pointing to the empty pizza plate.

“Well, you better come up with something soon,” Carol teased, her eyes twinkling.

“I will,” Therese said, walking toward the kitchen, grateful she didn’t have to continue to look Carol in the eye, not only because of the warm blush that invaded her cheeks, but also because she was afraid her disappointment that Carol was leaving so soon was readable on her face.

When she returned to the living room, Therese saw Andy had a book in his hand as he padded over to the couch.

“Hi,” Carol greeted him.

Setting the book on the cushion next to Carol, he pushed it toward the back of the couch. Palms flat on the cushion, he laid his tummy on the seat and threw one knee over its edge. With a push for momentum, he heaved his little body up on the couch before turning and sitting in Carol’s lap.

“Oh!” Carol said, surprised.

Andy reached over to pick up the book and handed it to her before settling comfortably back into the crook of her arm with his thumb in his mouth. Rindy joined them, standing between Carol’s legs.

“Isn’t he sooooooo cute, Mama?” she asked, taking Andy’s face in her hands. “His cheeks are so chubby!” Andy happily basked in the attention the young girl afforded him.

Carol laughed. “Yes, he’s adorable. Your cheeks used to be chubby, too, darling,” she said softly to her daughter. “Do you want to read a book with us?” she asked Rindy.

“Yes,” Rindy answered, scrambling up next to her mother.

“You don’t have to read to him,” Therese said apologetically, worried her son was holding Carol hostage, but enthralled with how content he looked in Carol’s arms, his head nestled against her chest.

“We have to read a bedtime book at some point,” Carol told Therese, her blue eyes sparkling. “It’s either here or at home, and it might as well be here,” she pointed out.

“And we don’t have this book at our house,” Rindy added soberly, looking at Therese.

“No, we don’t,” Carol agreed. “Aren’t you going to read with us?” Carol asked, looking at Therese still standing there. She scooted over slightly and pulled Rindy closer to make room for Therese.

Not expecting the question, Therese froze. “Come read with us, Therese,” Rindy insisted.

“Ok,” Therese relented, shyly joining them all on the couch.

Carol leaned toward Therese so everyone could see. “ _Scuffy the Tugboat_ ,” she began.

 

* * *

 

With everyone’s attention, Carol turned to the last page of the book. "’This is the place for a red-painted tugboat," says Scuffy back home. "And this is the life for me.’” Even before she could finish the last sentence, Andy jumped down and quickly trotted over to get his second favorite book, _The Poky Little Puppy._

“That’s all, Andy,” Therese told him gently. “It’s bedtime and they have to go home so Rindy can go to bed, too.”

Retrieving her coat, Carol noticed a men’s bicycle behind the front door. “Do you ride?” she asked Therese nonchalantly.

“No. Well, I _can_ ,” Therese hastened to explain. “But the bike is Dannie’s. He’s my roommate.”

“Oh,” Carol murmured, slipping into her jacket. ‘I knew you were friends. I didn’t know you were roommates.”

“Yes. He’s at the atelier right now,” Therese told her. “He had to work all afternoon,” she explained.

“That’s a long day. I appreciate you letting her come over tonight,” Carol told Therese near the front door as she rummaged through her purse. “You saved me.” Carol held out two crisp twenty dollar bills to her. “For dinner and your trouble.”

“You don’t have to pay me,” Therese told her, holding up her hands to refuse the money. “She was no problem at all. And Andy had fun having someone dote on him all evening.”

“Well, then. We will have to do this at my place sometime,” Carol insisted, tilting her head to the side as she returned the money to her purse.

Suddenly shy, Therese looked like she was starting to decline but surprised Carol by acquiescing. “That would be nice. Andy would like … _we_ would like that,” she corrected.

“It’s a date then,” Carol stated emphatically, sealing the deal. “Rindy, say thank you and tell them goodbye,” Carol gently reminded her daughter.

“Thank you.” Rindy stepped away from her mother’s side and wrapped her thin arms around the little boy clutching Therese’s leg as best she could. The dark-haired toddler surprised Carol by releasing his mother and putting his chubby little arms around Rindy’s waist. She loudly kissed him on his forehead before letting go, while Carol secretly mused she could learn something from her daughter’s unabashed gall and charm.

“Thank _you,_ ” Carol whispered to Therese as she leaned forward and softly brushed her lips against Therese’s cheek, aware of the little ones at their feet.

“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Carol.” Therese beamed, sending them on their way with a flash of dimples.

 

* * *

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Legal Disclaimer:**
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> To Whom It May Concern, (Ligeria and towanda, notably), the author would like to state that this chapter in no way confirms or negates the possibility of a bed on the third floor.


	11. Divine Proportion

“I know I scared some of you when I said be prepared to do some math today,” Carol said as she grinned at her class wickedly, “but that’s what we’ll be doing, at least in theory.” She angled her whiteboard a bit to make sure all the students who were scattered among the sofas and chairs, notebooks at the ready, could easily see. “After all, a mathematician named Luca Pacioli who was a collaborator of Leonardo da Vinci once said, ‘Without mathematics there is no art.’ So today we are going to study the mathematical genius of another Leonardo: _Leonardo Pisano Bogollo._ ”

Picking up a blue dry erase marker, she began writing on the board:

 

> 0, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 …

Turning back to them, she asked, “What is the next number?” After a beat, a few students answered at the same time, calling out the number 13.  “Correct,” Carol told them as she turned around and added a 13 to the sequence. “Does anyone know what this is called?” she asked them, surveying the group. Silence met her question before a voice finally spoke up.

“It’s the Fibonacci Sequence,” Therese volunteered, tucking her long hair behind her ear.

“Yes,” Carol confirmed. “Each number is the sum of the two numbers before it. But why do we care about these numbers as artists?” She waited for an answer. Receiving none, she focused her attention. “Therese?”

The dark-haired woman’s eyelids flew upward, surprised at having been called on again. Carol had called her bluff, assuming she knew the answer, and now she was on the spot. Swallowing her reluctance, she explained, ”Because it’s the basis for the Golden Ratio.”

Carol grinned at Therese with an expression that could only be described as triumphantly proud, as a few murmurs of recognition floated out from the group. Carol uncapped her marker again and drew a large rectangle on the board. Then she drew a straight line from the top of the rectangle to its bottom, making a large square within the rectangle.

“The width of this square is 13,” Carol told them as she wrote the number down on the square’s base. She then directed her attention to the standing rectangle abutting the square. Drawing one horizontal line, she bisected the tall rectangle into another square with a smaller rectangle lying on top of it. “The width of this square is eight.” A number eight now sat on that square’s baseline. She continued to draw straight lines, dividing rectangles into smaller and smaller squares and rectangles. “So what is the width of this square?” Carol asked, tapping the third largest square with her knuckle.

Genevieve spoke up this time, much to Therese’s relief. “Five.”

“Good, Gen. It has to be if the the sum of these two squares is 13. And how do we know it is 13?” Carol inquired, fully enmeshed in the Socratic method.

“Because that was the width of our first square,” Genevieve explained as Carol continued to label the width of the squares in reverse Fibonacci order until the smallest square held a number ‘1’ in it.

“Right,” Carol said emphatically. Then she carefully drew a curved line from one corner of the big square to its opposite corner, but she didn’t stop there. Never lifting her marker from the board, she crossed the boundary of the large square and continued to draw curved lines through each successively smaller square. Standing back, she assessed the large, elegant spiral she had drawn. Turning, she noticed looks of recognition and small smiles from her group, including Therese.

“Does this spiral remind you of anything?” Carol leaned on one end of a sofa.

“A shell,” replied Jeanette.

“A fractal,” responded Dannie a half second later.

“Yes,” Carol agreed. “Fibonacci numbers and sequences are found all throughout nature from the seeds in a sunflower, to the way a fern uncoils, to pinecones, and petal and branch growth. We see it everywhere in nature, which may be one of the reasons it is so appealing to us.” She turned back to the board.

“However, it is the ratio that is important. If we were to divide the largest side of our original rectangle by its smaller side, the number is approximately 1.618. This number is known as _Phi_ .” She drew the symbol _φ_ with a flourish. “In fact, if we take any two successive Fibonacci numbers, their ratio is very close to this number. It’s called the golden ratio.”

“Is that the same as the golden section?” Jack asked her.

“Yes. You’ll also sometimes see it referred to as the golden mean. This proportion was believed to be so aesthetically pleasing that Renaissance artists called it the _Divine Proportion_. Leonardo da Vinci used it when creating his _Vitruvian Man._ ”

She paused, noticing all of them were still writing, except Therese who was watching her. They simply enjoyed a brief but serene moment between them, despite the others in the room. _She kissed me yesterday_ , Carol marveled. _I'm probably blushing,_ she thought, trying to regain her composure.

As heads lifted, Carol went on. “So, many artists believe that this ratio is crucial when choosing the dimensions for your work or considering your composition. A simplified version called the _Rule of Thirds_ says that placing important elements of your painting at these crosshairs increases interest.” She quickly drew a rectangle and divided it into nine sections, circling the four intersections.

Turning back to them, she capped her marker. “We will discuss all of this more in depth as we talk about composition. Like I said, the man who came up with this sequence was an Italian named Leonardo Pisano Bogollo. Today he is better known as Fibonacci. Of course, that was his nickname,” she explained, watching Therese take notes, her dark hair cascading over her notebook. “In Italian, it means ‘Son of Bonacci.’”

 

* * *

 

As the last of the sun descended from the sky in glorious oranges, magentas, and purples, Carol and Abby prepared for their impromptu combined class the next day.

“Spill.” Abby picked up a folded landscape easel in each hand and walked toward her beloved red and white Volkswagen van parked outside the atelier’s front door. Carol did the same and followed her. Opening the van, Abby began loading in one of the easels before she turned to Carol expectantly. “I let you off easy yesterday, but I’m not feeling so agreeable today. I want details, darling.”

Carol blushed and chuckled.

“ _DETAILS,_ woman,” Abby reiterated, taking the easels from Carol. “Because you went from cranky as hell to … well, _this_. And you better regale me before this van is loaded,” she added.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Carol said, sighing. “We were fighting and …”

“Wait – why were you fighting?” Abby inquired, scrunching her eyebrows at Carol as the two women turned to go back inside.

“I saw Genevieve kiss her. On the security cameras,” Carol admitted.

“WHAT?” Abby spluttered, obviously taken aback by the revelation.

Carol turned sharply to look at her. “What part are you questioning? That Therese was kissing someone else or that I was watching?” She hesitated, looking directly at Abby before asking her last question. “Or that it was Genevieve who had kissed her?”

Abby refused to answer Carol’s question with an answer, shaking her head and responding with one of her own instead. “So that's why you were upset. What happened?”

“I was an ass. I was an absolute ass to her. That’s what happened,” Carol stated regretfully. But then her face lit up. “And she’s a spitfire,” she said, chuckling. “She was pissed.”

“Was she now?” Abby was suddenly amused trying to picture the scenario.

“She was livid,” Carol told her. “And I deserved it. So I needed to make it right. I had to explain why I was watching the cameras – why I even _have_ the cameras. So I took her upstairs.”

“You _told_ her?” Abby asked, incredulously.

“Not details, but yes,” Carol admitted. “I told her.”

“That’s a big step, Carol,” Abby told her as they packed more easels into the van. “Taking her upstairs is unexpected, too. I know how much you cherish your privacy.”

Handing another easel to Abby, Carol explained, “I had to, Abby. More than that though, I actually _wanted_ to.” The admittance surprised even herself.

“So did she calm down after she found out you live here?” Abby asked.

“I guess so – she kissed me,” Carol said as smoothly and nonchalantly as possible, while avoiding looking at her best friend.

Abby’s eyes descended upon Carol with the flurry of a flock of seagulls to a handful of breadcrumbs. “She kissed you?” Abby stood there open-mouthed. “You’re as red as my van.” Abby laughed. “You should make her mad more often.”

Carol’s light skin only turned a shade deeper. “It wasn’t like that,” she started.

“What _was_ it like?” Abby asked her devilishly.

“It was … “ Carol searched for the right words, “unexpected and lovely.” Her face had lost its crimson blush, but glowed with a different light. For while the remembrance excited and warmed her through, she also knew the path ahead was not without difficulty.

 

* * *

 

With the overhead lights ablaze and the atelier’s windows squares of darkness, Therese used a rag to wipe some of the burnt umber off her canvas. Dinner had long come and gone and she was back at the atelier, a mixture of eagerness and stubbornness resulting in her presence here once again. Sculpting the lights out from the dark, she worked by subtraction and removed the paint. Where the lights shone the brightest, she rubbed harder, trying to get back to the white of the canvas, occasionally dipping a tiny corner of her rag into her odorless mineral spirits to reach the brightest highlights.

She had been working on her wipeout steadily into the night, looking for large masses, slowly refining, using both a rag and her brush to remove excess paint. As she referred to the sketch she had done from the model that afternoon, Therese reflected on how the live session now seemed days ago.

During the beginning of the class, she had been nervous and embarrassed when the model disrobed, even though she knew she shouldn't be. But the grueling task of representing what she saw on her paper with a tapered piece of vine charcoal soon took over. A few hours later, she regarded the model’s curves and form no different than the planes of any inanimate object.

However, it was harder than it looked and now, hours later after the model had long left, her charcoal croquis seemed utterly inadequate, unable to give her the necessary notes she looked for that she had been privileged to have access to in real life. Her effort felt flat, inferior, uninspired. So when her hand holding the rag accidentally slipped and took off paint from an area she had already completed, she quietly cursed, wound up, and hurled the wadded-up rag as hard as she could. The twelve-six curveball dropped off the proverbial table and landed far too close in proximity to give her any kind of decent gratification. Walking over to pick it up, she carefully removed any traces of burnt umber that might have smudged the wooden floor with a clean corner of the rag.

Standing back and assessing her painting, she sighed. Therese knew what the problem was: it was two-fold. The first problem was her eyes. She had the ability to recognize good painting. When faced with a talented artist’s work, she easily recognized what made the painting great. It might be the unusual composition designed just perfectly to lead the viewer’s eye. It might be the limited color scheme characterizing the whole painting with a certain harmony. Or, it might be the artist’s use of varied edges to make certain parts of the painting advance or recede.

The second problem was being able to put that knowledge into practice. Just because she could recognize great art and the methods used to create it, getting there was an entirely different matter. Much like how many talented musicians might be able to predict a certain song they heard once would become a hit, very few of them had a Grammy sitting on their mantle at home. Knowing and doing were two very different creatures. And the weight that scratched and clung to her like a burr on her clothing was the knowledge that she could recognize it, yet might never attain that level.

“ _Son of a b …_ ” Therese swore. She picked up her razor blade and slashed the painting in one violent but pleasurable diagonal swoop, the sharp metal edge slicing through warp and weft with ease. She twisted the wing nut on top of her easel and to remove the canvas. Carrying it over to the large waste bin near the workbench, she dropped it in.

 

* * *

 

Some time after Therese had begun her second effort on a pristinely-primed canvas, she heard the stairwell door open. Looking up, she watched as Carol crossed the room towards her. She was wearing a faded Mets t-shirt, loose sweatpants, no makeup, and bare feet. Her hair was casually pulled back in a low ponytail. It occurred to Therese that she didn’t think she had ever seen Carol look more beautiful. The phrase _divine proportion_ sprung into her mind and she silently chastised herself for being so adolescent.

“Is everything okay? You're here late,” Carol stated, before something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

Altering her direction slightly, she stopped and peered at the lump on one end of the sofa. Glancing up at first at Therese, she knelt down and examined it closer. Her hand reached out and gently pulled back the blanket before she softly laid her hand upon the brown curls of the sleeping boy. Replacing the blanket, she stood up and faced Therese.

“How long are you planning to stay tonight?” she asked Therese.

“I don't know. Maybe a couple more hours or so,” Therese grumbled, remembering her frustration with painting. She hoped Carol wouldn't come around to look at the initial yet pedestrian attempt on her easel. She didn't want to have to explain her failed start.

At her answer, Carol reached into her sweatpants pocket and pulled out an access card. She silently handed it to Therese before she leaned over and picked up sleeping Andy. “Sweet boy,” she murmured. Stunned, Therese just watched as Carol carefully tucked the blanket around him while her son instinctively threw his arms around Carol's neck and stirred slightly.

“Shhhh,” Carol whispered and kissed his warm rosy cheek imprinted with the weave of the sofa’s cushions. She raised her eyes to meet Therese's. “I'm going to tuck him in a real bed. Come up and get him when you're finished, darling.”

“It won’t be too late?” Therese questioned.

Carol silently shook her head side to side with a hint of a smile. “It won’t be too late, Therese.” She took a few steps and turned around. “And remember, you were born to paint, so do what you do.”

As the elevator doors squeezed shut on her son sleeping in Carol’s arms, Therese looked at her canvas with a surge of confidence that propelled her to try again.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, after her second undertaking had made much better progress than her first, a tired and drained Therese stood in the elevator. She stared at the buttons, unsure if she should call or text first. _What the hell_ , she thought. _She’s expecting me._ She inserted the access card and pushed the button for the third floor. The contraption jerked and moved with a sudden start and whir of machinery.

The doors opened into Carol’s living room, a warmth enveloping her skin that hadn’t been present in the elevator. As Therese stepped out of the elevator and came forward, Carol lowered the book she was reading to her lap and raised her head. She sat curled on one end of the couch in front of a low fire, its flickering flames dancing patterns across the walls. An old, much-loved quilt covered her legs and a half-empty glass of white wine held sentry on the end table beside her.

Carol said nothing, but patted the sofa cushion beside her. Therese gratefully flopped down beside her, resting her head against the back of the couch with a sigh.

Carol studied her, shifting slightly to turn her body toward Therese. “Would you like some wine?” she offered. “Or maybe something to eat.”

“No, thanks,” Therese said, her fatigue evident in the way her body sagged into the soft cushions.

Carol ruminated on what to do next. She could offer to go get Andy, but she didn’t necessarily want to appear to be pushing Therese out the door. She knew Therese was exhausted, that much was evident. She considered offering to let her stay in the guest room, but again, Carol wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, even if just to another room. So she sat quietly.

“Do you know what I could use?” Therese asked.

Carol tipped her head to the side slightly. “What?”

“Two things,” Therese said lazily. “I could use a glass of water and … this.” Without lifting her head from the back of the couch, Therese touched her fingertips to the side of Carol’s throat, slid them around to cup the nape of her neck, and drew Carol’s head down into a soft kiss. With eyes closed, Carol dropped her book onto the floor, evident by the soft thud upon the carpet, her hand ending up on Therese’s hipbone. With her other hand, she pushed wayward strands of Therese’s hair back from their conjoined lips.

As the initial softness grew in intensity, Carol pushed the blanket from her legs in order to lean in closer to the woman whose heated kiss had instantly warmed her more than the fire, quilt, and wine combined had.

“Carol,” Therese murmured, her hands both pulling Carol closer and finding their way under the hem of her t-shirt. Silken skin shuddered as Therese’s fingertips felt their way along Carol’s abdomen just above her sweatpants. With each breath that Carol gasped, Therese’s fingers crawled up another rung of her ribs. Nearly shaking, Carol held her breath and suspended the kiss, though never letting their lips break contact when Therese’s fingertips brushed the undersides of her breasts. And when Therese finally reached her destination, she caught Carol’s moan with a kiss that matched the ministrations of her engaged hands.

It was a bit later when they instinctively broke apart, hands stilling though remaining on each other. The look, their shared connection hardly needed to be verbalized, but Carol reluctantly stated the mundane. “It’s an early day tomorrow for both both of us, and it’s late.” She slowly sat back, putting some distance between them. Therese stifled a yawn and nodded her head in agreement as she withdrew her hands from under Carol’s t-shirt, carefully pulling it back down into place before she grinned.

“Let me get you that glass of water,” Carol said, standing up. She picked up the blanket that had fallen around her ankles and tossed it where she had been sitting. Therese leaned her head on the back of the couch once again, just watching her. As Carol made her way around the back of the couch to the open kitchen, she once again debated whether to invite Therese to crash in her guest room. She knew it was very late at this point. Carol could transfer Andy in there from where he was currently curled up with Rindy in her bed. As she pushed the glass against the refrigerator door to fill it with filtered water, she decided she would at least offer. If Therese found the offer strange, she didn’t have to accept.

Carol brought the glass of water back to the living room, but instead of handing it to Therese, she ended up placing it next to her forgotten wine glass. Therese’s eyes were closed as she lightly snored, her face half turned against the back of the couch. Carol stepped into the guest room and pulled a pillow out from the neatly made bed. She replaced the throw pillow beside Therese with it, and with one arm wrapped around Therese and one cradling her head, Carol gently lowered her down upon the pillow, dark strands fanning out across the cotton case. After removing her shoes and lifting her feet onto the sofa, Carol pulled the quilt up over Therese. She traced the slant of a cheekbone with her thumb and studied dark lashes resting against alabaster skin before kissing Therese once more on the lips, differently this time. It didn’t ignite the fiery passion she had felt just a short time before, but something simpler, yet just as strong if not stronger, and the magnitude of the act delighted her.

Carol turned off the gas fireplace and extinguished the lights. With one last peek at Rindy and Andy nestled against each other, she retreated to her bedroom. She craved sleep, yet she knew she had much to think about and wondered if slumber would come at all.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, as Ligeria **immediately** pointed out, there are finally beds on the third floor.


	12. En Plein Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> En plein air, or plein air painting, is a phrase borrowed from the French meaning "open (in full) air" - to paint in the outdoors.

Therese turned over on her side and pulled the blanket up to her chin. The quilted texture in her hand was unfamiliar enough to lure her from her state of semi-consciousness. She pushed herself up on one elbow as her eyes surveyed the dark room. _Carol’s._ Bits of last night came rushing back to her, some scenes more indelibly etched in her mind than others. She also recalled her extreme fatigue and reflected on how it came in like a captor and snatched her away.

She tossed the quilt off of her and swung her legs to the floor, inadvertently stepping on her shoes that Carol must have removed and carefully lined up for her. Gaining her bearings, she tiptoed down the hallway. Peering into the first room cloaked in darkness, her eyes distinguished a made bed, with the exception of one missing pillow. Moving on, she stopped in the doorway of the next room, a soft light emanating from the far wall where a night light glowed. In a small bed laid two children asleep on their backs, snuggled up next to each other despite their limbs sprawled out haphazardly. Andy’s head rested against Rindy’s chest, her arm thrown up above her head. One of Andy’s arms stretched across her stomach.

Therese moved to the edge of the bed to pull the comforter up over both of them. _Frozen_ , she thought. _Andy’s going to be thrilled,_ she mused as she looked at the iconic marshmallow-looking snowman grinning up at her. Her eyes took in what her son was wearing. He had on a simple t-shirt and pair of shorts, probably something Rindy had outgrown. The clothing he had been wearing was folded on top of Rindy’s dresser. Therese wondered if he was wet. Potty training was going quite well, but she knew all kids are prone to accidents and she had upset his routine. Carefully she checked his pajama bottoms and was surprised to find he was wearing a pull-up diaper. Therese smiled. Covering both children, she leaned down and kissed her son on his forehead and then left one on Rindy’s too.

Truth be told, Therese knew her spontaneous nighttime expedition had no valid reason to continue on, but a sense of adventure led her to the third door.

Therese lingered in the doorway to the master suite, her eyes adjusting to the grayed landscape before her. Leaning against the door jamb, she could make out Carol, her back toward Therese. Carol's head laid on the furthest pillow, most of the covers also pulled toward that side of the bed. Therese's eyes fell on the empty pillow and the unused half of the bed. She desperately wanted to slide in behind Carol. She'd even let Carol keep all the covers. But it didn't feel quite right. She knew Carol wouldn't mind, but the first time she slept in Carol’s bed, she wanted to be asked.

 

* * *

 

The second time Therese awoke on Carol’s couch, volcanic giggling bubbled from down the hall before a loud shushing sound caused it to abruptly end. Smiling, she recognized her son’s exuberance and Rindy's not-so-subtle quieting. Opening her eyes, she noticed the sun wasn't up yet, but the pinkish hues of sunrise predicted its imminent arrival.

Standing, she folded the quilt, took a drink from the glass of water Carol had left her, and quietly walked down the hall. Peeking into Rindy's room, Therese saw all three of them playing on the floor. Carol sat in a salmon-colored robe, her legs delicately tucked to the side. They all snapped large, colorful blocks together. Rindy sat cross-legged next to her mother, building hers into a tower, and Andy stood to the other side of Carol. He struggled to separate a yellow block from a red one.

“Help,” he said to Carol, handing her the blocks. He leaned against her shoulder as she took the blocks from him. She pushed a fingernail between the blocks and popped them apart.

“Here you go,” she told him, giving them back. He took them, then bent down to exchange the yellow for a smaller green one.

Carol looked up, seeing Therese for the first time. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

Therese stepped into the room and joined the trio on the floor. “I slept like a rock.” She grinned. “I didn't mean to fall asleep though.”

Carol smiled warmly. “I'm glad you did. I think you needed it.”

Therese ran her fingers through Andy's messy curls. “Hi, baby,” she murmured. He glanced at her, but he was otherwise content to focus on the blocks in his hands.

Carol put her blocks back in the pile and gracefully stood up. “I'm going to go make breakfast. Who wants oatmeal?” she asked.

“Me!” Rindy immediately answered followed by Andy’s echo only a beat later. Carol raised an eyebrow at Therese.

Therese started to argue, “You don't have to make breakfast,” but the look on Carol’s face let her know resistance was futile. She cut herself off and changed her response with a smile. “Yes, please.”

Carol gave her shoulder a soft squeeze on her way out of the room.

Forty-five minutes later, after everyone had consumed oatmeal with warm apples, blonde raisins, brown sugar and cinnamon, Therese and Andy rode down the elevator. She hoped it wouldn't take too long to drive home, shower and change, drop him off, and be back for class. Stepping out of the elevator, they made it to the gallery’s entrance just as Ruby let herself in the front door.

“Oh!” Ruby said, startled. She looked from Therese down to to Andy. “I wasn't expecting anyone here this early.”

“No, no, um … we’re not usually here this early. Just today,” Therese awkwardly explained without giving any explanation at all. “See you a bit later,” she told Ruby as she herded Andy out the door without making eye contact. She never gave Ruby a chance to say another word.

 

* * *

 

“Good morning, dear.” Aileen kissed Therese on the cheek as she gathered Andy from her arms. “And how is my favorite boy?” she cooed to the still-sleepy toddler. He wrapped his arms around her neck and laid his head on her shoulder, burying his eyes in her chin length red hair that was once her natural shade but now meticulously colored every three weeks.

Therese set Andy’s Minion backpack down against the wall. “I appreciate you taking him all day. My class schedule changed at the last minute,” she explained.

“We have big plans today,” Aileen said softly to Andy. “We’re going to the park to play in the sandbox and swing on the swings.” Andy lifted his head and looked at her a moment before grinning his baby-toothed smile at her. “I thought you might like that,” she said before kissing him on his temple. “Has he eaten?” she asked Therese.

“He had oatmeal, but you know him. He’d probably eat again if you offered.” Therese chuckled.

“Do you want to help me make pancakes? You can stir everything in the bowl for me.” At Aileen’s mention of pancakes, Andy squirmed, wanting to be put down. She let go of him and he started pulling his coat off. “I guess that’s a yes,” Aileen surmised.

“Give me a kiss good-bye first,” Therese said, catching her son before he took off for the kitchen.

“Bye-bye,” he told her, wrapping pudgy arms around her neck and meeting her lips with a wet kiss. She planted another one on his soft cheek before letting go of him.

“Be good. I’ll see you later, little man.” She tousled his brown waves as he set out for Aileen’s kitchen. “Thanks, Aileen.”

“Have fun today, dear,” Aileen called after her as she closed the front door.

 

* * *

 

“Abby will be driving her van down with all the easels and supplies. I think she has room for one or two of you. The rest of us will meet her down there. It’s a short walk – only half a mile,” Carol told them.

“I can help you with all the stuff,” Gen offered to Abby.

“That would be great,” Abby allowed.

“Double-check and make sure you have everything you need before leaving,” Carol advised her group. “We will be painting _en plein air_ in Gantry Plaza State Park. It affords you many choices of subject matter: the skyline, the water, architectural elements, bridges, foliage. Just don’t stray too far from the group so I can make it around to all of you easily.”

Looking around at them, she explained, “The paintings we have been doing so far have all been indirect painting, or painting in layers. Today we will be painting directly, or wet-in-wet. Our goal is to finish the painting in one sitting – or standing, as it may be. This is called _alla prima_. It means ‘at first attempt.’ You’ll have to be more cognizant of your brushstrokes. Typically alla prima paintings are not as tight as indirect paintings. Don’t waste time finessing edges and putting in details, especially in the beginning. Block in your large masses and work from there. Don’t be afraid to paint loosely. Realism doesn’t necessarily mean painting tightly. Remember, the Impressionists were realists.”

“This is what you meant by a field trip?” Jeanette spoke up. “I thought we’d be visiting a museum or something.”

“You will be out _in the field_ painting. That’s why I asked you to wear dark shirts or jackets. If you forgot, like Jack here, you can borrow one of the smocks. Otherwise, the glare of your shirt on your painting is going to give you fits all day,” Carol told them. “So grab your stuff and let’s head out.”

Abby and Gen headed downstairs first to drive over and begin unloading the van while the rest of the students gathered their supplies. Ruby and Rindy looked on as the group that had finally assembled down in the gallery headed outside.

“Follow me!” Jack shouted from just outside the door. “I know a shortcut.”

“Have fun!” Ruby called out to the departing class.

“Bye, Mom,” Rindy told Carol as Carol kissed her on top of her head. And then with a shy smile, “Bye, Therese.” She punctuated it with a little wave.  

“Goodbye, Rindy. See you later,” Therese told her before she noticed the girl’s wrist. Tied around it was braided black twine that met together at a silver nut. “I like your bracelet,” she added.

“Mom made it for me. I decided I don’t care if things are straight or not,” Rindy said firmly.

“I agree with you.” Therese winked at the little girl. She felt a soft tug on her elbow and found Carol looking at her closely.

“Walk with me?” Carol asked.

 

* * *

 

Walking together, they brought up the rear of the group. They started out in silence, Carol holding her well-used pochade box, years of paint splatters like confetti on its sides, and Therese carrying her small bag of paints. Half a block from the atelier, Therese moved her bag to her other shoulder, allowing her to step closer to Carol. She reached out and took Carol’s hand.

“Is this okay?” Therese started to ask, but Carol had already gently extricated her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Carol said quietly.

“It’s all right,” Therese replied, regretting the gesture immediately. It was a bold and perhaps thoughtless move when the rest of the class was right in front of them, but a large part of her had hoped Carol wouldn’t mind.

“It’s not okay, but it has to be for now,” Carol explained. “I’m their instructor – _your_ instructor.” The last two words came out half exhaled, half pained.

Therese walked on another half block before saying anything. “So where does that leave us?” she finally asked.

After more than a moment’s hesitation, Carol responded thoughtfully, “I don’t know that I have the answer to that …” Her voice carried away, lost in the sounds of passing cars.

“I don’t see why it matters,” Therese argued.

“It does matter. I’ll be accused of favoritism, not to mention how I would possibly justify my behavior to the woman who gave you your scholarship,” Carol retorted, stopping at the corner.

“Then maybe I should quit.” Therese’s reply came quickly, without hesitation, her breathing much too fast for the pace they were walking.

“You can’t quit. You have a scholarship! What are you going to do?” Carol scoffed. “Work at the art store full time? You wouldn’t be happy with that, and both you and I know it.” Carol dismissed her threat without even glancing at her. “Aren’t you happy with your instruction? I assumed you liked being part of the atelier,” she challenged, this time willing to look at her.

Therese met her eyes, but immediately resumed looking ahead. “You know I do,” she responded quietly.

“Then it has to be this way,” Carol said softly.

Therese picked up speed, quickly putting a few steps between them. Carol increased her pace in order to catch up with her. “Therese, wait,” she said, catching the younger woman’s wrist and spinning her back toward her. She could see the fear, the already palpable loss evident on Therese’s face. They faced each other, both of them stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, fingers still holding a wrist as if that one connection was paramount in salvaging what little they had.

“I want this, too, what might be,” Carol explained quietly, her blue eyes mirroring the sky above them. Then she took an immense risk and brushed Therese’s cheek with her thumb before kissing her softly in the middle of 47th Avenue in Queens. When Therese began to press against her, Carol pulled back slightly. Her hand slid from Therese’s cheek, over her neck, to rest on her shoulder. Carol whispered the brutal truth just loud enough to be heard over passing traffic. “Worst case scenario, you won’t be my student after next spring. I know it seems like a long time to wait,” she added apologetically.

“Carol,” Therese began, a genuine honesty emanating from her green irises along with the tears that shimmered along the lower lids of her eyes, “You're more important to me than attending school here.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Carol said, brusquely dismissing her statement and resuming walking. “Come on. They’ll all wonder why we’re slowpokes.” After twenty or so paces, she continued. “No,” Carol shook her head adamantly, “you need to be a student, more than anyone in this class. You have talent, Therese. I believe you could do great things. Having an artist like you come along makes having this atelier worthwhile. You are the reason places like this exist.”

“I never even got my turn to ask you to do something,” Therese said forlornly.

Carol reached out and quickly squeezed Therese’s hand as her response before withdrawing it just as quickly. She glanced up to where Richard and Jack strode along just ahead of them as they all approached the park.

“Does Richard ever regret not having any involvement with his son?” she asked Therese suddenly, changing the subject.

“His son?” Therese turned to her, bewildered. “Andy?” She scoffed. “Richard is _not_ Andy’s father,” she told Carol emphatically as someone hollered at them.

“Give us a hand, you two!” Abby called, holding out two landscape easels.

 

* * *

 

The class painted for four hours straight, stopping only when Abby brought out drinks and snacks from the belly of her van mid-morning. Most of the students, including Therese, set their easels up near the water’s edge and painted the New York skyline. A few walked out on the pier and painted the park itself. Jack was focused on painting boats in the East River and Abby some of the architecture behind the park. Both Carol and Abby tried to choose a central location between everyone and divided their time painting and wandering around giving advice. Therese picked up on bits and pieces of others’ conversations around her.

“Just because you’re outside doesn’t mean you don’t need to step back from your painting once and awhile,” Carol reminded Jeanette. “John Singer Sargent wore a visible path in his carpet stepping back from his easel. We all need to assess our paintings from a distance every now and then.”

Beside Therese, she could overhear Abby giving Dannie advice. “Check your shadow temperature. Remember: warm light, cool shadows “

While Abby stopped by to praise the realistic gradation in her sky and complimented her use of aerial perspective, Carol passed her by a few times, but said little.

At the end of the four hours, they stood the wet paintings up against a railing and held an informal critique as a few of them lamented forgetting to wear a hat or apply sunscreen. Once the paintings were safely slid into wet panel carriers and loaded into the van with the easels, Carol addressed the group.

“Before everyone dashes off, I’d like to invite you all for a beer at Woodbines. But before we head over there, I have something for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a number 10 envelope. “Jack, Genevieve, Richard …” She started handing out checks as she called people’s names. When almost all the students had a check in their hands, Carol looked up. “Ruby sold a painting yesterday, which is why all of you are holding a little extra spending money in your hands. And the person whose painting she sold belonged to ... Therese.” Carol stepped forward and handed her the envelope holding the last check with a wide smile. “Congratulations.”

The group applauded as Abby hooted her approval in the background. Therese accepted the offered envelope with disbelief. Dannie crushed her in a bear hug from the side. Finally released from his grasp, she peeked inside the envelope and Carol saw her eyes brim with tears before she looked up and smiled. “Thank you,” she said to Carol, but even her excitement seemed muted by their earlier conversation.

“You painted it, darling,” Carol said too quickly, letting the endearment escape before she could stop it. However, judging by the exuberant attitude of the group with money burning holes in their pockets, no one took notice of it.

Once the group had all poured into the bar, Therese chose the only available stool – right next to Carol – at the long high-top table. Everyone relaxed, most sipping on Pilsners and munching on fried pickles as they discussed their outing and what they intended to order. Even Jeanette admitted the field trip wasn’t so bad once she was on her second draft.

When Carol would reach for her beer, her right arm would brush Therese’s, lightning touching the sun-kissed skin of her forearm, sending shivers down her spine, a cruel punishment – a glimpse of what she wasn’t allowed to have. She tried to move her body an inch or two away, despite the close quarters.

Therese quietly sipped her beer, watching Richard and Dannie discuss IPAs and pale ales while listening to Carol’s voice next to her. Her tone was fuller, more relaxed now as she spoke with Abby, a result of her a couple of beers and a successful day plein air painting. But all Therese could think about was their talk on the way to the park and the ramifications of what Carol had said to her. When Carol turned to Therese with a light touch on her thigh as she asked a question, it made Therese jump.

“Sorry?” she mumbled, forcing Carol to ask her question again.

“Does Andy go to preschool?” Carol asked, turning slightly toward her so that their knees touched. Abby looked on from across the table.

“Sometimes,” Therese explained. “Usually he stays with a woman who watches him, but I also take him to a drop-in preschool when she can’t.” She glanced between them and continued. “He likes going to the preschool because they have a train set, but he likes spending time with Aileen better. They adore each other.” She smiled faintly at the fact, grateful she had such a wonderful woman who cared for her precious boy when she couldn’t.

But then her mood shifted. Pulling cash from her wallet to cover her share, she slid off her barstool. “Speaking of which, I need to get going.” Therese leaned down and picked up her bag of painting supplies. “Bye, guys.”

 

* * *

 

When Carol’s class resumed their continued study on the Flemish Technique the next morning, Therese wasn’t in attendance.

 

* * *

 

 


	13. Trompe l'oeil

**** In addition to missing class, Therese was conspicuously absent when Ruby came up from the gallery to congratulate her scholarship recipient on her first sale. Ruby seemed slightly perturbed she wasn’t there, but Carol’s hasty attempt to make excuses for Therese seemed to intrigue her far more than Therese’s actual absence. Ruby left without saying much, which worried Carol more than if she had voiced an opinion.

Therese’s station was still vacant at the end of the session while the rest of the students finished their dead layer. Dannie didn’t know where she was. He told Carol that Therese had left just before him that morning to drop off Andy. As far as he knew, he thought she planned to be in class. 

Carol wandered over to Therese’s station as everyone began to clean up.  _ Maybe she got sick or is just exhausted and went home and crashed _ , Carol thought. But the voice inside her haunted her with the words Therese had spoken on their walk yesterday. She ran her hands along the top of Therese’s taboret as she mulled over other possible scenarios. With a sense of foreboding, she knew she should pull open the top drawer of the taboret to see if there was anything still inside.  _ Did she leave the bar early yesterday to clean out her stuff? _ Carol wondered.

With a heavy heart, Carol slid the drawer outward on its rails. Bright tubes of vibrantly colored oil paints, palette knives, and brushes appeared. The second drawer yielded all of Therese’s drawing supplies, including her plumb line that matched Rindy’s bracelet. Carol sighed audibly, a bit relieved if somewhat embarrassed as Dannie glanced over at her with a curious look. She closed the drawers.

Carol was awash in a volatile combination of relief, worry, and irritation. Therese had yet to miss a class or even show up late, and yet this was the day she chose to do it. It couldn’t be coincidence that it was following Carol’s admission yesterday, could it? And even though her annoyance by Therese’s unexplained absence pervaded her every thought, she wasn’t without the nagging feeling that something could also be very wrong.

But just before he left, Dannie approached Carol. He told her Therese’s response to his inquisitive text was a short, cryptic answer saying she would be there for Abby’s class. 

 

* * *

 

Abby’s afternoon class was on painting reflective surfaces. They were supposed to use the lesson as part of their  _ trompe l’oeil  _ assignment. These usually small, highly-realistic still life paintings were known as such for their ability to be so lifelike they “tricked the eye.” Abby asked the students to choose a set-up from the atelier’s vast array of still life objects housed on glassed-in shelves or create one from their own items.

Having arrived exactly at the class’s start time to avoid any lengthy conversations, Therese was relieved to see that Carol was not at the atelier, much as she had hoped. She had noticed that Carol usually spent the afternoon doing something with Rindy after she took her daughter on their weekly ‘lunch date.’ As childish as it sounded, Therese knew she just couldn’t handle dealing with Carol Aird today, not after how yesterday had transpired. For while Therese was certainly upset and disappointed, she was also angry. So she had skipped class, spent the morning running errands with Andy, and took some time to focus on all the thoughts swirling in her head.

Mulling over the situation, she had thought long and hard about her options. Therese knew without any doubt that what she felt for Carol was more than just an attraction. Therese  _ wanted _ so much more. Her feelings for Carol dwarfed anything she felt for any person outside of her son. Therese wanted to know  _ everything _ about Carol from how light or dark she preferred her toast, to what shampoo she used, to how and where touching her yielded the best results. She wanted to learn, to memorize every little thing that made Carol happy, and those that made her sad, too. For without one there is not the other, and she wanted her understanding of Carol to be complete and thorough.

But today, her only understanding was that she could not have what she desired, not in this capacity, not at this point in time. And while she was still considered fairly young, Therese was not so young as to have enough of life’s harsh experience to know that things did not remain unchanged over time. The end of the school year was a long time away, and anything could happen between then and now. 

Therese had sat quietly through Abby’s demo on the difference between specular and diffuse reflections and how to portray each one with paint. She took careful notes on the techniques Abby employed to make each surface appear realistic. Abby taught them that when painting highly reflective surfaces, keeping your head stationary and closing one eye simplifies the highlights. 

Finally, Therese meandered over to look at the still life shelves. Most of the shelves’ protective glass fronts had been left open by other students. The dark hardwood shelves held an unusual array of trinkets resembling collections she had seen in dusty antique stores in East Village with Dannie on Sunday afternoons after a rare brunch out. The cabinets overflowed with vases, casts, shells of all sorts, old leather-bound books, feathers, and glass blob top bottles in various sizes, shapes, and shades ranging from aquamarine to amethyst. An entire shelf dedicated to metallic objects like pewter creamers, silver pitchers and teapots, small oil cans, and mismatched candlesticks reflected sharp highlights off all their shiny surfaces. Another shelf was filled only with items that could be categorized as white: jars, vases, milk glass, figurines, egg shells, cue balls, bones, tea cups, and candles. Individual Mason jars held collections of marbles, skeleton keys, buttons, small spoons, and pocket watches. 

Therese ran her fingers over a copper-and-cream nautilus shell, an Erlenmeyer flask, an ammonite, and a brass telescope. She picked up a red billiard ball, glanced at animal skulls of various sizes and admired a beautifully illustrated vintage deck of playing cards. Her eyes passed over an antique globe on a hand-carved wooden base, a mandolin, and an oboe before she ended up selecting a vintage folding camera, an hourglass, and a small brass biplane. 

She had an idea for her her trompe l’oeil and knew just the item at home she wanted to include in her composition: a black and white photograph of her grandmother as a young woman. The delicately scalloped edge of the snapshot accentuated her smile as she stood there wearing Katharine Hepburn-style slacks alongside her Schwinn bicycle.

Lost in her reverie, she had neglected to notice Abby come up beside her. 

“Everything okay?” Abby asked quietly. “I heard you weren’t in class this morning.”

Somberly, Therese answered. “No, I wasn’t. But it’s fine.” She looked at Abby pointedly. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Her tone must have been enough to convince Abby to discontinue her questioning. “I just thought I’d ask,” Abby replied, stepping back. “If there’s anything I can help with …”

“There’s not,” Therese said curtly, gathering her items and walking toward her shadowbox. “But thanks.”

 

* * *

 

Therese pushed the loaded supply cart with her clipboard, barcode scanner, and boxes of new inventory down the aisle that housed colored pencils and pastels. She refilled open stock Carbothello colored pencils, checking each one for a sharpened point before she slid it into its labeled slot. She made notes of which colors needed to be reordered on her clipboard.

She had worked at this family-owned art supply store for almost four years now, quickly making her way up to manager. She enjoyed quiet nights like this after long days at the atelier. 

Picking up a new set of Unison Handmade Pastels, she admired their natural earth colors. The oblong sticks appeared to be hand rolled, lacking uniformity, and their unique shape greatly appealed to her. She considered treating herself. After all, she  _ had  _ just sold a painting and she had never really tried pastels with any true intention. Resolutely shelving the new set, she told herself she would think about it.

A bell signaled a customer had entered the store. Therese stepped out of the aisle to offer a greeting, but it caught in the back of her throat, leaving her at a loss for words. Carol briefly glanced around the store before her eyes met Therese’s. She crossed the distance between them in just a few short steps, but just as she came up to face Therese, Therese turned back to her cart of inventory and resumed working. 

“People are questioning why you weren’t in class today,” Carol stated to Therese’s profile.

“People?” Therese retorted. “People like you? I would think you would have had a pretty good idea why.” She scanned pan pastels before putting them out on the shelves. 

“You’re an idiot if you’re going to throw this away,” Carol told her adamantly, flipping her hair back from her face with a vigorous shake of her head. 

“I missed  _ one _ class,” Therese argued, facing her. “I showed up for Abby’s class.” The hurt look that registered on Carol’s face surprised her even though she knew that Carol must have already been aware of the fact.

“And why was that?” Carol inquired. “Why weren’t you in  _ my _ class?” she demanded to know.

“Because if I’m not your student, then there is no issue.” She continued scanning and shelving pastels.

Carol sighed loudly. “That’s your plan? I thought you were more mature than this, Therese.” 

Silence descended upon them except for the occasional beep of Therese’s handheld scanner as she methodically emptied the boxes on the cart. Faced with no response from the younger woman, Carol continued. “While in my atelier, you  _ are _ my student. And a student you will be. I expect you to be in class. Because _ if _ you aren’t in class, nothing will ever happen between us at any point in the future.” Carol delivered her ultimatum with a raised chin, a defiance that threatened to consume all the oxygen in the room like the flame of a candle placed under a glass.

Therese turned to her and spat out the truth. “I can’t deal with you right now. You’re hot one minute and cold the next.” She dropped the scanner on the cart and pushed through the swinging door to the backroom at the end of the aisle.

She stood there, hands on her hips, drawing in futile breaths. The door swung open and Carol followed.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Therese told her without turning around.

“You’re not supposed to be acting like a child,” Carol returned. They stood there silently, Therese’s frequent breaths the only sound in the room. 

In less of a harsh tone, Carol went on. “It’s all about brush miles, Therese. You need to be there every day learning, painting, developing as an artist. I can’t stand to see you waste your potential or your scholarship. And deep down I know you realize that what I’m saying is true. Perhaps if it was just you, you could act with reckless abandon and make good on your threat to quit, but you have someone else to think about. And I meant what I said. Nothing will happen between us if you decide to forego the opportunity you have in front of you. I have no interest in being with anyone self-destructive, and that’s exactly how I view this.”

“You think you can manipulate me.” Therese’s voice sounded defeated, even to her own ears.

“No, I think you will do what you know to be right,” Carol told her.

Therese continued to stand with her back toward Carol. A hollowness carved its way within her, leaving only a thin shell that stood no chance of offering protection. Carol laid her hand on Therese’s shoulder and her voice came, so soft and gentle it threatened to shatter Therese where she stood. The warmth of Carol’s breath grazed her ear. “It will be okay, Therese.”

Therese felt the hand on her shoulder fall away and then there was nothing. When she finally turned around, the slight swinging of the stockroom door and the tinkle of the bell out front signalled Carol’s exit from the store.

Then a melancholic and sickening realization occurred to Therese as she returned to her task at hand. If she was to see her dream come true, to complete her training in painting at one of the most distinguished ateliers on the east coast under the tutelage of a woman who was no less than a modern master and keep her valuable, once-in-a-lifetime scholarship opportunity, she had to make a terrible decision: Therese had to protect herself. She needed to distance herself emotionally. And once outfitted with this coat of emotional armor and by avoiding Carol as much as possible, she might have the fortitude and strength of heart to finish the school year. It would be no easy task when one was a student and the other the teacher.

 

* * *

 

Late autumn had traded in her brightly colored foliage to dip her toes into frosty overnight temperatures and swirling winds that siphoned all warmth from fingers, toes, and bones. However, the temperature outside was nothing compared to the chill felt within the atelier.

Therese had indeed returned to class, though the person who showed up was a mere ghost of the person she had been. Quiet, despondent, and reticent to talk to anyone except Dannie, she kept to herself despite Carol’s repeated attempts to engage with her. She avoided Carol like the plague, refusing to even make eye contact with her most of the time. If Carol entered the kitchen for any reason, Therese would pick up her cup of coffee, push in her chair, and return to her station. If they happened to be heading for the elevator at the same moment, Therese would turn and take the stairs.

The young woman who had once been the star student, willing to speak up and volunteer answers and opinions when all the other students were ignorant or hesitant, had disappeared. And when she did feel inclined to respond to someone, her answers were generally icy and curt.

The drastic change in Therese’s demeanor did not go unnoticed. Other students whispered and talked quietly about her, often asking Dannie questions he refused to answer. Abby became thoroughly annoyed with the situation, complaining that a dark rain cloud had invaded her classroom. 

Even Ruby had noticed a difference in Therese during the time each week she volunteered in the gallery. She rarely brought Andy along anymore and spent her required hours there in sullen silence. Ruby mentioned offhandedly to Carol that Therese was just as likely to scare potential customers away as she was to sell a painting.

In fact, the only genuine warmth in the gallery appeared to be a budding friendship between Jeanette and Ruby. While Jeanette’s artistic intentions were good, her finished paintings often left something to be desired. However, she seemed to have found her calling downstairs, having a natural gift for charming walk-in customers and loyal clients alike. It is said that confidence comes from repeated success, and Jeanette’s confidence had bloomed. She led all students in gallery sales, though ironically, none of the paintings sold had been hers. 

Ruby had taken a liking to the strange girl, mentoring her in the intricacies and challenges of running a gallery and generally taken Jeanette under her wing. They seemed to have such an affinity for each other that Jeanette volunteered far more hours in the gallery than she was required each week, and she had even been invited to Ruby and her husband’s home for dinner. It was not uncommon for students and instructors entering the building to find them in the gallery laughing and chatting over cups of coffee.

The changes in Therese weighed on Carol, keeping her up at night, making her distracted and edgy. She felt responsible for Therese’s state of mind, although Carol couldn’t figure out what other option she had been given. The last handful of weeks hadn’t been easy on her either. Her constant excuses to Rindy to explain Therese’s ‘disappearance’ were becoming habitual. Carol missed their conversations, their repartee, and the few moments of physical contact they had shared. Abby had learned not to broach the subject of Therese and had quit trying. And as November rolled along, Carol’s sadness over Therese’s frosty mood began to turn into irritation.

Another change in Therese became apparent to Carol right around Thanksgiving. It worried her more than some of Therese’s personality changes. Therese’s art was taking a hit. She continued to paint and draw, attending classes and completing paintings, but it was as if her heart wasn’t in the act of creating them. And it showed. The results were blatantly obvious, staring out from the stretched linen canvases. Therese had lost her wizardry with a brush.

 

* * *

 


	14. Zorn Palette

**** Carol took advantage of a rare quiet moment in the atelier to relax. Tommy and Dannie had just headed out and only Phil and Abby remained, Phil putting finishing touches on a painting and Abby about to stretch a canvas for a portrait commission she had just been granted. Carol laid propped up on the couch with the new Juliette Aristides book that had just arrived in the morning’s mail. She leisurely flipped through it page-by-page, spending time simply viewing all the artwork. The book would be actually read the second time through – now was just her chance to find pleasure in the sublime work of her peers. 

Abby walked across the room carrying bare stretcher bars and a rubber mallet. She laid everything down on the workbench just across from where Carol was reclining.

“Abby, what are you doing this weekend? We should plan how we want to introduce the palette after the holiday.” Carol glanced up from a painting 

“Um, I can’t get together this weekend,” Abby mumbled. “Maybe we can do it on the phone?”

“On the phone? Are you being serious?” Carol laid the open book in her lap as she waited for an answer. “You didn’t have time to do it last weekend either. What’s going on?” she asked quizzically.

“I can do it the weekend after that. I’m free then,” Abby told her vaguely, forcing the joints of two stretcher bars together into a 90 degree angle. 

“Fine.” Carol sighed, picking her book back up as Abby finally glanced over at her. 

“Is that a Sadie Valeri on the cover?” Abby asked, hoping to change the subject.

“It is,” Carol confirmed, partially closing the book in order to see it. “She has such a unique style. I’d know it anywhere.”

Having overheard their previous exchange, Phil asked, “What palette are we introducing?” Upon his return to the matter, Abby shot daggers his way.

Carol turned her head to answer him over the back of the couch. “The Zorn Palette.” 

“The Zorn Palette!?” He grinned. “Oh, Dannie is going to be so frigging excited. I can’t wait to tell him. He’s been waiting for this.”

“Why?” Carol asked, amused. 

“Zorn is his favorite artist of all time,” Phil told them.  

“Zorn - not Sargent or Sorolla?” Abby inquired as she and Carol finally made eye contact.

“Nope. Zorn. Dannie is obsessed with him. Other kids had posters of movie stars or rock groups on their bedroom wall, but ol’ Dannie boy had a big print of Anders Zorn’s self-portrait. You know the one where he is wearing a white smock and you can see the four colors of paint laid out on his palette?” Phil waited for both of them to nod before continuing. “He was fascinated - still is - that this guy could paint entire realistic-looking paintings basically using only red, black, yellow, and white. I remember him as a kid asking my mom over and over again, ‘How did he make blue? How did he make blue?’ My kid brother ... ” He shook his head and chuckled at the memory.

The sly look that Carol and Abby exchanged said it all:  _ Mystery solved. _

 

* * *

 

Aileen McElroy peeked in on where Andy was napping in the middle of her bed. Shutting the door again quietly, she decided to let him sleep another 15 minutes. He hadn’t been his usual cheerful self lately. She wondered if he just wasn’t getting enough sleep or if something was wrong at home. Come to think of it, Therese hadn’t been acting like herself lately either. 

Just as she thought of Therese, Aileen heard Therese’s car door slam in the driveway. Therese rapped softly on the front door a moment later and then let herself in. “Hi,” she said as she saw Aileen standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hello, dear. Come on in. I have cookies that just came out of the oven,” she said, turning to go into the kitchen. Therese followed her.

“Thanks, but I’m not really hungry,” Therese said apologetically, sitting in one of the chairs in the breakfast nook. Aileen joined her, bringing a plate of warm oatmeal raisin cookies with her.

“I don’t recall asking if you’re hungry,” she said, winking at Therese. “You’re in my house and it would be impolite not to eat what I offer you.” Her smile faded. “You’ve lost weight.” She opened the refrigerator and took out a half gallon of milk before reaching for a couple small glasses.

“I’m fine. I just have a lot of stuff going on.” Therese tried to offer an explanation, but it left something to be desired. She picked up a cookie off the plate.

Aileen glanced at her as she poured the milk. “It’s not my son, is it? Because if he’s giving you any problems, just kick him out. Or come to think of it, you and Andy can always come and live here,” she told Therese.

Therese laughed. “No, Dannie is the least of my problems. He’s great actually.” She bit into the perfectly chewy cookie, the raisins plump and warm. For the first time in weeks, food actually tasted good and she had eaten half the cookie before Aileen deposited her glass of milk in front of her.

“Not hungry, huh?” Aileen kidded her.

“They’re really good,” Therese told her, dipping the second half of the cookie into the cold milk and lifting the wet bite to her mouth.

“Hi, baby,” Aileen said towards the doorway where a tousled head had appeared. “Do you want a cookie?”

Andy toddled forward in his bare feet until he reached Therese. She lifted him into her lap where he promptly stuck his thumb in his mouth. Aileen placed a cookie on a napkin in front of him and rose to pour him a glass of milk.

“I missed you,” Therese told him, kissing his cheek and offering him a bite of her cookie. He withdrew his thumb and accepted the bite, taking the rest of the cookie in his hand. “You stole my cookie,” she said, tickling his ribs. He finally smiled, the remnants of his sleep melting away as his dimples appeared.

As Andy and Therese left a bit later, Aileen hugged them both and saw them out the door. “Therese,” she called as they walked to the car. “I’m always here if you need anything.”

Therese looked up. “I do know. Thank you.” She smiled warmly. “Tell Grandma thanks for the cookies,” she said to her son.

 

* * *

 

With Andy secure in his carseat, Therese pointed the Subaru toward the apartment they shared with Dannie. She reflected on the woman in the rearview mirror and all the love she gave so freely. Aileen McElroy had been a rather strict mother for two boys growing up in New York City, or at least that’s how Phil and Dannie liked to paint the picture. But all evidence was to the contrary as far as Therese had witnessed when it came to Aileen and her beloved grandson, for she had nothing but love and attention to offer in a seemingly never-ending supply. For that matter, Aileen had treated Therese like her own daughter after learning of the arrangement Therese and Dannie had made nearly three years ago.

Therese thought of her unusual and loving little family and how it worked for all of them but sometimes seemed strange to outsiders who only felt comfortable with firmly delineated lines and labels – a single mother who didn’t want or expect anything from the biological father outside of friendship, a biological father who offered up a gift to his best friend who desperately wanted a child of her own even though he didn’t feel the need to be a father himself, a grandmother who was at first surprised to hear of her son’s unusual plan and still eagerly insisted on being a part of the baby’s life.

And while Dannie was mature enough to know that the daily rigors of parenthood were not meant for him, he adored Andy. Therese and Dannie had often talked during her pregnancy about what Dannie would like the baby to call him. He vacillated between having the child call him by his given name or whether to go with the traditional ‘daddy.’ Shortly before Andy’s birth, he decided he would like the child to call him by his name because he thought the alternative would bring far more uncomfortable questions from strangers. In the end, when Andy first began talking and Therese had tried to teach him to say ‘Dannie,’ Dannie was quick to jump in and nonchalantly say it was okay when Andy’s first attempts came out sounding like ‘daddy.’

To repay her best friend for the tremendous gift he gave her, Therese named her baby boy Anders Daniel Belivet.

 

* * *

 

Therese stepped off the elevator and walked over to her station. She stopped when she noticed things were different. Instead of her easel being next to Carol’s, another easel had been moved in between. The easel in question stood approximately waist high and held four colors of tempera paints in a tray along the bottom: red, yellow, green, and blue. A clean piece of white butcher newsprint was clipped to the easel and a child’s apron hung from one corner.

As Therese set her backpack down, Carol stepped out of her office. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to Therese.

“It’s your school,” Therese said, not looking up.

“I thought I’d bring her to paint today,” Carol offered hesitantly.

“Why? Is it ‘bring your daughter to work’ day?” Therese asked quickly, stashing her bag under her taboret and shutting the doors too loudly.

“ _ No _ ,” Carol emphasized, moving closer. “She’s been a bit down lately and she wanted to see you. I told her she could paint quietly next to you if it’s not a problem. I’ve explained to her that you’re busy working on your own painting.” Carol ducked her head to try and make eye contact with Therese. It worked. “She misses you.”

“I’m glad someone does,” Therese said quietly. Carol drew in a sharp breath through her teeth. Ignoring Carol’s reaction, Therese relented, unable to disappoint the little girl. “She can paint next to me.”

The bathroom door opened and Rindy bounded across the studio. “Therese!” She wrapped spindly little arms around Therese’s knees. Therese noticed the bracelet and nut on her little wrist had seen better days, frays sticking out all along the braided twine.

“Hi, Rindy,” she said, laying her hand on the little girl’s head. “Are you ready to paint?”

“Yes.” Rindy nodded adamantly.

With a little help from Carol, Rindy was soon painting, so Carol went back to her office. It took Therese a little while longer to get going on her own painting. She had cleaned her palette off the night before, so all her colors needed to be laid out in order again.

“Mama says you’re busy, so I’m not supposed to talk to you,” Rindy told Therese innocently.

“Well, this is school for me,” Therese explained. “I’m supposed to be doing my work. Are you allowed to talk in your school?”

“Sometimes,” Rindy said, waving her yellow-tipped paintbrush around as she talked. “Except during circle and storytime.”

“Right. I guess our schools are kind of different, aren’t they?” 

“We get snacks at my school,” Rindy told her as Carol got up from her desk where she had been listening and walked back into the studio.

“Nerinda Aird!” Carol startled her daughter with a slightly raised voice. Rindy guiltily looked at her mother before turning back to her easel and dipping in for more yellow paint. 

Therese turned to the little girl and whispered, “I have snacks for later,” before she put a finger to her lips with the universal sign to be quiet. Rindy grinned, Therese’s secret safe with her.

 

* * *

 

“We need to talk.”

_ Fuck. _

When Ruby Robichek showed up in Carol’s office later that evening and asked to close the door, Carol was hardly surprised. She knew that Ruby not only had an eye on the front door, but on most of the goings on in the atelier. Combine that with her self-declared mentoring of Jeanette Harrison and Carol knew that Ruby was also probably aware of happenings her eyes did not have privy to due to the young woman’s proclivity to talk.

“How are you, Ruby?” Carol asked, pushing papers aside to give her friend her full attention, hoping that this visit was about anything beside what she expected it to be about.

“I’m fine, Carol. Sometimes I think I’m the only one around here who is,” she said pointedly. “ There is an issue regarding a student that I am very concerned about.”

“Which student?” Carol asked even though the answer screamed itself inside her.

Ruby just looked at Carol as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs as she sat primly in the chair across from Carol, her seventy year-old legs still toned and fit. “I think you know. I hear things, Carol.” 

Dozens of thoughts flooded Carol’s mind.  _ How much does she know? Who told her? Did she see me kiss Therese that day on the street? Did someone see Therese leave that night she slept on my couch? _

Ruby seemed to carefully be thinking how to proceed. “I’m not a young woman,” she finally admitted with a regretful toss of her black and white hair. “So when I hear a bit of gossip, I treat is as just that. But when I interact with person after person and hear the same common threads throughout all the conversations, there is usually a grain of truth to them.”

The magnitude of Carol’s uneasiness multiplied. She felt her face immediately flush, her heart rate accelerate, and her hands shook so uncontrollably that she folded them in her lap. She swallowed and felt certain the sound of it reverberated off the windows of her office. Scenes of her professional life flashed before her eyes as she readied herself for the reprimand and repercussions that were sure to follow.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” said Carol, “but .. “

Ruby held up a hand to silence her. “Let me finish, Carol.” Without the courtesy of even blinking, she stared Carol down as she told her unapologetically, “You’re an idiot.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned Ligeria is a rock star? If you're a reader in this fandom and you don't have the utmost appreciation for her, you really should.


	15. Clair de Lune

****_ She thinks I’m an idiot, _ Carol thought. She mentally resigned herself for what Ruby had to say next.

“Carol my dear, you are brilliant, but you are also an idiot.” Ruby felt the need to drive her point home. She moved forward in her chair, making direct eye contact with Carol. “You have feelings for her, don’t you?”

Carol looked down at the wood grain running horizontally through the top of her desk. She imagined the thin, slightly undulating slivers of xylem and phloem as rivers  – rivers she could slip into that would sweep her away from the mess of these past few weeks, rivers that would envelop and cleanse and carry her to a place where she was not forced to choose between two impossibilities. She just wanted  _ one _ river, a river where she wouldn’t have to answer  _ that _ question.

Ruby took her silence as confirmation. “What have you done?” she asked Carol, shaking her head. The question was more rhetorical than anything, but Carol would not have been able to answer her regardless.

Carol’s regret ballooned deep within her, the acidity of her humiliation and shame threatening to burn through her at any second, the sorrow knowing she had let Ruby down after all Ruby had done for her. For a split second, she was grateful her mother wasn’t around to witness her mistakes. Carol wondered whatever inspired her to ask Therese to lunch on the roof, what severe lack of judgment and thoughtlessness allowed her to let anything happen. Hot tears swelled and clung, suspended, their eventual fall only temporarily delayed.

Ruby continued. “What you’ve done to that girl … she’s …  _ broken _ . You’ve changed her. You’ve hurt her.”

The tears fell and splashed, drops of salinity mingling with miniature oaken tributaries. Carol raised her hand to the desktop and wiped them away with her palm, embarrassed by her weakness, her show of emotion, her cruelty, and her failure. She covered her face with her hands, her elbows propped on the desk.

“Oh, Carol. Why can everyone see it for what it is except you? If I had the chance to have what you've found, I'd give up everything I have to leap in with both feet,” Ruby said softly, touching the top of Carol’s head tenderly. “It doesn’t come around very often.”

Confused, Carol raised her head.

“I’ve seen you two together.” Ruby shook her from head side to side as she wiped one of Carol’s tears away with a thumb. “You’ve gone about this all wrong, darling. You’ve made both of you miserable and everyone else in the process. I know you had the best of intentions, not wanting to get involved with one of your students. I respect that, I really do. But let’s be honest, this is more of an apprenticeship than anything. Don’t get me wrong – it’s important work you’re doing here. However, you’re both grown women and so is everyone else here. They’re here because they just want to learn how to paint – how to paint from a great painter, I might add.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Carol told her. “She’s your scholarship recipient after all.”

“She is,” Ruby agreed. “Which means I take her well-being seriously. I gave her that scholarship with the expectation that she would use it to its full potential, attend classes, learn from you, and develop the natural talent she already has. I don’t know how that’s supposed to happen if you two are at an impasse. I hear classes are awkward and uncomfortable and everyone around here seems to be walking on eggshells lately.” Ruby sighed, studying Carol. “You shouldn’t feel badly though. It happens – you fall in love with someone.” She hesitated before continuing cryptically. “You’re not the only ones, you know,” Ruby told her with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” Carol asked her, as the unusual feeling of relief began to slowly flow through her veins.

“You haven’t wondered why your best friend always seems to be busy these days?” Ruby paused for effect. “She feels terrible when she sees you trying to set this good example. Abby’s wracked with guilt because she's worried you'll think less of her, but she’s in no different of a situation. The only difference is Abby has never been one to let a good thing pass her by.” 

Ruby’s smirk made even Carol smile faintly.  _ Genevieve. No wonder Abby is free next weekend. That’s Gen’s National Guard drill weekend,  _ Carol thought.

“How did I not know they were seeing each other?” Carol asked rhetorically, wondering how self-absorbed she must have been the last few weeks to miss something so important happening in her best friend’s life.

“Well, they’re not the only ones,” Ruby said, studying her red-lacquered nails. “People like to talk. It’s often slow down in the gallery and there’s only so much dusting and sweeping we can do. Sometimes they just need a confidante.”

“Who else?” Carol demanded to know, shocked at the volume of the onslaught of information she had been oblivious about. “Who?”

“Tommy.” Ruby smiled.

“Who is Tommy seeing?” Carol inquired. “Jeanette?” 

“No.” Ruby ran her fingers through her hair, interspersing her white streak into the jet black. “Dannie.” 

Ruby let the news sink in before she went on. “I bring my own bottle of water. I’m not sure what’s in the water here, but the percentage in this building seems significantly higher than in the rest of the population,” Ruby said in jest before winking at Carol.

Carol laughed, and it felt good. The constraints, that had held her so tightly, loosened and fell away. The staleness inhabiting her lungs exited, replaced with fresh air. 

Ruby stood up, straightening her skirt and jacket as she did. “I watched you go through horrible, terrible times, Carol. You deserve so much more that that. I’m sorry you thought you could ever disappoint me. I hope going forward you realize I just want you to be happy. Your mother would have wanted that, too.”

Carol got up from behind her desk to wrap her arms around the woman before her. After a moment, they separated, Carol wiping her eyes. 

“Oh, and a bit of advice …” Ruby put her hand on the doorknob. “Don’t make her suffer too long, Carol.”

 

* * *

 

Carol and Rindy spent the evening making homemade pizza and then sharing some mother-and-daughter time together. Carol put on Debussy’s  _ Clair de Lune _ and they played one of Rindy’s favorite games. They each started a drawing and worked on it for five minutes. After that time, they traded pieces of paper and the other person finished the drawing. They were not allowed to ask questions as to the other person’s intentions, so hilarious outcomes were commonplace.

As Carol added rollerskates with a Purple Pizzazz crayon to a what appeared to be a skinny dinosaur, she thought of the parallels between art and music as she listened to Debussy’s piece. The poor man himself had been trying to create music with a new sense of reality, yet often got slapped with the label of Impressionism.  _ We are so quick to label, to try and fit things neatly in boxes, even if they don’t fit,  _ she mused.  _ It probably didn’t help that his name was Claude, _ Carol thought, amusing herself. 

Once she had tucked Rindy into bed and three-hole punched their drawings into a binder, Carol turned her thoughts to Therese. She went over in her mind what she would say to her tomorrow. With unbridled excitement, Carol thought about how they would talk, how everything would finally be fine, and she felt an immense sense of anticipation and relief. Anything was possible now. She found herself smiling as she rinsed dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

 

* * *

 

Genevieve was telling Therese about what it was like growing up a military brat as they waited for the coffee to percolate in the atelier’s kitchen. Therese leaned with her back against the counter, arms crossed as she listened. She noticed Carol hovering nearby out of the corner of her eye, but she resisted making eye contact. Carol seemed to be looking for an opening to interrupt their conversation, and Therese did not plan to give it to her. 

Just as they finished adding accoutrements to their coffee, Abby clapped her hands and called her students to attention as she began her class. Therese saw Carol’s shoulders slump in defeat as she turned and went into her office. 

Students wandered over to their easels and pulled up their stools, a recent addition to the studio now that everyone seemed to have a good grasp on the benefit of viewing their paintings from a distance. 

“First of all, I want to remind you that by now you should have the compositions for your trompe l’oeil paintings finalized if you haven’t already started painting, as I know some of you have. You’ll recall that these paintings are due to be critiqued before we leave on Christmas break,” Abby told them. “Don’t leave them until the last minute.”

Therese shifted on her stool and cringed. She had arranged her items in her shadowbox and brought in the photo of her grandmother, but she had resisted spending any more time on the project. She felt a certain responsibility to really do justice to this painting. It was almost as if she owed her grandmother that much. And truth be told, her painting prowess lately left something to be desired. Even she was aware of it. Abby, Phil, and even Dannie tiptoed around the issue, trying to offer encouraging advice and tactfully pointing out changes to be made, but Therese could tell the results of her work recently had been nowhere near adequate or even good. She knew Carol was aware of her lack of aptitude lately, too. She had stopped giving Therese compliments and seemed hesitant to give her criticism under the circumstances, so their interactions had become stilted and few and far between. So in order not to relegate her trompe l’oeil painting to mediocrity, she simply chose not to paint it – at least right now.

Abby had moved on to a new topic. “There is one plant more important to oil painters than all others. So, let’s talk about the wonders of flax.”

Everyone laughed at her unexpected statement. “No, I’m not talking about needing more fiber in your diet, although that is another of its benefits.” Abby wheeled the whiteboard out from the wall and wrote in her slapdash handwriting, ‘ _ Linum usitatissimum _ .’

“ _ Linum _ , Latin for flax,” she told them. “ _ Usitatissimum _ , ‘most useful.’” She capped her marker and dropped it on the whiteboard’s slim shelf. “The flax plant is grown in cooler climates and has been an important crop dating back to antiquity. Its fibers are long, much longer than cotton, which makes it two to three times as strong. In fact, it is so durable, the Romans used Egyptian linen for their sails.”

As Abby extolled the virtues of flax, Carol began working at her easel next to Therese. 

“However, linen canvases are only one of the important products artists get from flax. Does anyone know the other?” Abby asked.

Therese knew the answer, but her days of volunteering information were over. Dannie spoke up instead. “Linseed oil,” he told them.

“That’s right,” Abby confirmed. “Linseed oil is the oil extracted from the flax plant. So while you may go out and buy tubes of paint that are made with safflower, walnut, or poppy oil as a vehicle, linseed is by far the most common oil and what most of you are using on your palette as a medium to extend your paint as you’re painting. It’s strong and flexible, and therefore desirable for archival reasons. It does have a major drawback though – it yellows over time. So you have to be careful how much of it you use, especially in light-colored mixtures. But even the great masters were aware of this issue and some even used it to their advantage.”

Therese glanced over at Carol, who was painting an extremely difficult still life setup of glass bottles. One of the bottles lay on its side, broken off as if it had been used in a bar fight. When they made eye contact, Therese quickly looked away.

“Today, we are going to experiment painting on linen,” Abby told them. “So far, you have all been doing your paintings on canvas, which is fine, but if you want to produce museum-quality paintings in the future, linen is the way to go.” She handed out samples to the students. They turned the unstretched sheets over in their hands, admiring the natural taupe color of the backsides and smoothly-primed, alabaster fronts.

“Portraits are usually done on linen because it tends to have a finer weave. These are samples of Claessens double oil-primed linen.”

Therese looked at the sample in her hand. The weave was fine, the finish smooth, the scent of the oil primer still strong. She was eager to lay paint on it with a brush. 

“Go ahead and tape your piece of linen to a board or the back of a spare palette with packing tape like I have. It will be fine for our needs today.” Abby gestured to a small table set atop the model stand. “I’ve created a setup in the center of the room. You can use this to experiment on the linen. You don’t have to paint the entire setup. Just pick a part that interests you. Our focus today is noticing the difference painting on linen, not necessarily trying to paint the perfect painting, although that’s never a bad thing either.” 

Therese looked up at the arranged setup of fresh Gerbera daisies, dark burgundy drapery, Narcissus paper whites, and a ceramic urn.

“Therese.” Carol had stopped painting as everyone began to move about and was now looking at her. “Can we talk after class?”

“I work right after class. I don’t have time.” Therese’s answer came out decisively quick.

“Just for a few minutes?” Carol pleaded.

“I have to work,” Therese reiterated, heading toward the supply cabinet to retrieve a board. 

Carol caught her by the wrist as she went by. “It’s important. It’s about ... us,” she whispered. 

“There is no us.” Therese hissed. “You told me what you wanted. Or have you changed your mind again just to fuck with me?” She noticed a few glances being cast their way and lowered her voice even more. “I’m not a faucet or a light switch. Maybe it’s easy for you to turn on and off in an instant, but I’m not like that.” Therese shook her wrist free and walked away. 

Carol stood there, stunned. 

When Therese turned to go back to her easel, she noticed Carol had left her station just as it was, unused paint left out on the palette, dirty brushes left to ruin, and walked out. She stayed away for the remainder of the class.

 

* * *

 

Carol fumed. She was angry at so many things that she didn’t know where to begin. Why had she been so naive to think that this would be easy?  _ Nothing ever was when it came to relationships, _ Carol thought, even though Therese’s and her strained existence could hardly be called a relationship of any kind these days. 

The month had not been easy on Carol, especially when she would catch a glimpse of Therese on a security camera working late, and knew she shouldn’t or couldn’t go downstairs, despite her desire to do so. She had missed Therese, in so many ways, and she should have said so. 

After she had told Therese to wait, Therese had withdrawn, whether to protect herself or to punish Carol, Carol didn’t know. Perhaps both. Therese’s chilly countenance only seemed to be skin deep though, Carol mused. Inside she was red hot, fiery, and apparently quite upset with Carol. Carol had not anticipated a reaction quite like she had received today, and frankly, it pissed her off. She was trying to fix things, trying to make amends, and Therese refused to give her the time of day. It occurred to Carol that perhaps she deserved it, for she had created this chaos in the first place, but it was not like Therese was the only one who was suffering through this. 

While Carol had been sincere when she asked Therese to wait until the school year was over, perhaps their age difference was a factor in Therese’s response. Carol confidently knew that she had every intention of holding up her end of the bargain, but Therese was younger, and her inexperience may have caused her to doubt Carol. 

_ Maybe instead of saying “wait,” _ Carol thought,  _ I should have said, “I’ll wait for you.” _

 

* * *

 

Therese laid on her side in the middle of the bed. She could hear Andy lightly snoring in his crib across the room.  _ He will need a real bed soon, _ she thought.  _ And a room of his own. _ In the living room, she could hear the sounds of the television as Dannie enjoyed a quiet Friday night at home with Tommy, Netflix, and a six-pack. They respectfully had the volume low, but it was just loud enough for her to hear the movie’s hum but not be able to make out the words.

Therese raised her arm and touched her wrist, the last place she had made contact with Carol. Therese thought about Carol wanting to talk to her, and wondered what could Carol could possibly say to her now. May was a long time away and Therese was just growing accustomed to shutting Carol out – if that was something someone could grow accustomed to. The last thing she needed was Carol opening up old wounds that were just beginning to heal. 

With a sigh, she turned on her back. Moonlight streamed in the upper part of her window unobscured by curtains and fell across her face and her pillowcase. It wasn’t even a full moon. In the chiaroscuro of the moon’s surface, she could see the terminator, the line where the sun’s rays were unable to reach around the form. Yet it was still bright, too bright for sleeping, and the degree of its luminosity made her wonder. The light she was seeing was reflected light, for the sun was not in her line of sight. A simple thought occurred to her: if a photon of light from the sun on the other side of the world could manage to fall on her pillow, she could make the effort and take a small step. She got out of bed. 

Throwing on the clothes she had been wearing, she got dressed and pressed a light kiss to Andy’s head. She spent a few minutes talking to Dannie and Tommy and then left.

 

* * *

 

Therese paid her cab driver, the moonlight glancing off the taxi’s chrome bumper as it drove away. She looked up at the third floor windows. The back end of Carol’s apartment was dark, but the living area was well lit, a good sign. As she keyed into the building’s front door, it occurred to her that Carol didn’t have a doorbell that she could see. Therese pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and called Carol’s number. Lights automatically flickered on in the gallery as she opened the door and stepped inside. The phone rang but went straight to voicemail. 

Hanging up, she wandered around the gallery for a few minutes, hoping that Carol might see her on the cameras and come down, but after five minutes she was bored and decided she needed another plan. She considered throwing pebbles at one of Carol’s windows, but she didn’t know where she was going to find any pebbles. And let’s face it, her aim wasn’t that good and the windows were three stories up. 

She called the elevator and stepped inside. Everyone had a code, even Carol. Therese knew this because of the night Carol took Andy upstairs. Carol had left her card with Therese and used her code instead. Therese thought maybe she could guess Carol’s code.  _ What if the elevator locks after the third failed attempt and I’m stuck in here all weekend? _ she wondered. She hoped the elevator’s software wasn’t finicky and tried the first code she could think of: 1-1-1-1. She pushed the button for the third floor. A red LED blinked. Nothing. She tried 1-2-3-4. No luck. She wondered what Rindy’s birthday was, but she wasn’t sure. Rindy was four, so she tried the few years that might be her birth year.  _ Nope.  _

Therese tried to think of things that were important to Carol, things she liked. What would Carol choose if she had to choose a meaningful code? Then it hit her:  _ the divine proportion. _

_ I’m a goddamn genius, _ she thought excitedly. She felt the adrenaline course through her as she pressed the buttons in a fevered hurry. 

> 1-6-1-8

She hit the button for the third floor and took a step back, eagerly anticipating the upward movement of the elevator, but it remained motionless, the red blinking of the LED mocking her. 

In one last ditch effort she didn’t really even give a fraction of a percentage of working, she pulled out her wallet and extracted her own key card. She inserted it into the slot and pressed the button for the third floor. 

The elevator moved. 

 

* * *

 

Carol had just finished her movie and was setting her empty wine glass next to the sink when she heard the elevator. Not only was she not expecting anyone, but the only person who knew how to access her apartment was Abby. After she and Abby had tearfully reconnected, Abby had invited Rindy to her place for a sleepover. She had texted Carol when Rindy fell asleep, so she knew it couldn’t be them. Instinctively, her hand moved toward the knife block, her body tense. 

The doors of the elevator pulled open, producing the woman Carol had longed to see standing inside it as a confluence of emotions flooded through her. The woman who had consumed her for months cautiously stepped into her apartment and Carol allowed her hand to fall away from the knife block to her side. 

“I wondered when you would try,” Carol told her. 

Therese didn’t respond, but moved across the room toward her. Carol suddenly felt very exposed and inadequate in only her bathrobe, the ends of her hair still wet from her shower earlier. 

In the kitchen, Therese put her hand on the refrigerator’s handle. “Do you have anything to drink in here?”

Carol nodded, motioning for her to look. Therese pulled open the refrigerator door and took out a microbrew. Carol reached into the drawer next to her and extended a bottle opener that she had pulled from inside. Therese popped the cap off in one sure motion and took a long swig.

“I did what I thought was right,” Carol said quietly. 

“You did what you thought was right for  _ you _ ,” Therese corrected her. “Did you ever stop and think how this all appeared from my point of view?” She set her beer down on the counter and leaned against it, her arms crossed in front of her. “You invite me up to the roof for a romantic lunch, you kissed me or let me kiss you – multiple times, I might add, you generally led me on, and then you flashed the biggest stop sign ever at me!” She stopped to take an exasperated breath.

Carol looked down at the floor. “I liked you, so much that it scared me. I invited you to lunch because I wanted to get you apart from everyone else and have you to myself for once. I wanted to get to know you. I still do. But everything happened so fast, and I didn’t know how to reconcile what I was feeling for you with the fact that I’m also your instructor. You must know, Therese, it killed me to push you away. And when I saw how you reacted, I was sick with guilt, knowing I was the cause.”

“How did you expect me to react?” Therese asked her. “I’ve never felt like this before,” she said adamantly. “How I feel for you is unlike anything I’ve ever felt for another person, so I did the only thing I could. How else was I supposed to survive being in this close proximity to you otherwise? I  _ had _ to come to class, but I also couldn’t let anything more develop between us, little as it might have been. Having my feelings for you grow while all this was going on would have made things even worse. I had to make myself immune to you somehow. I tried to harden myself, not feel anything, or I’d feel too much.” She swallowed audibly. 

“Did it work?” Carol asked. 

“What do you think?” Therese sarcastically retorted, picking up her beer for another drink before setting it down too hard, the glass bottle banging against the granite countertop.  

“I think I was wrong,” Carol admitted after a short time. “I thought that by acting on my feelings toward you, I would jeopardize my business and my reputation. Right or wrong, I prioritized those things over you and I’m sorry.”

“Oh, so you’re suddenly sorry. Now all is well,” Therese said, scoffing sardonically.

“I’ve been sorry the entire time, for what it’s worth,” Carol said, anger rising in her voice as she struggled to be understood. “Do you really think it’s been easy for me?” she asked, stepping in front of Therese.

“How the hell would I know?” Therese spat out angrily, throwing her hands up as she suddenly stepped away from the counter and towards Carol.

Carol visibly flinched, throwing her arms up in front of her face for protection. When nothing happened, she cautiously opened her eyes that had been squeezed shut. Therese stood in front of her, all color drained from her face.

“Carol.” Her voice no more than a whisper, she stepped closer, much slower this time. “Did you think I was going to hit you?”

Carol looked away, embarrassed. “Habit,” she murmured.

Therese took Carol’s hands in hers and the simple contact calmed and comforted. Therese’s thumbs lightly grazed Carol’s knuckles as Carol tried to slow her breathing back to normal. 

“I’m not him,” Therese told her tenderly, only inches now separating their faces.

“You are nothing like him. You're so much more than he ever was to me.” Carol’s hands squeezed Therese’s tightly, trying to impress upon her the magnitude of what she was trying to say. “This hasn’t been easy for me either,” Carol answered quietly followed by a sigh. 

“So why the sudden change?” Therese asked, still a hint of irritation evident in her voice. “Why aren’t you worried about being caught anymore?”

Carol sighed. “Ruby came to talk to me. By not doing anything, we seemed to have attracted more attention than if we had.” She looked at Therese. “She’s upset with me, but not in the way that I expected. She’s mad at me for hurting you.”

Therese raised her eyebrows.

Carol continued. “And she’s worried about you as an artist. She really wants to see you succeed.  _ I _ really want to see you succeed. I’ve never known anyone like you, Therese,” Carol said tenderly. She looked into Therese’s eyes, understanding between them slowly coming to light as Therese grasped her fingers harder.  

“It’s been so hard to have you so close by. Don’t you think I’ve wanted to talk to you, touch you, spend time with you every day?” Carol cautiously lifted her hand and brushed Therese’s hair back where it had fallen over her right eye and caressed her cheek. “I’ve missed you,” she said breathlessly.

Therese had closed her eyes and leaned her face into the palm of Carol’s hand. As her hands came to rest on Carol’s waist, Carol brought her other hand up to cup Therese’s face. “How things are now,” Carol told her softly, “are not good for anyone involved.”

“So what should we do?” Therese whispered, both her hands now gripping the belt of Carol’s robe as their noses gently brushed against each other. Their breaths came faster and faster as they realized the conversational part of the evening had concluded, even if all their difficulties had not been perfectly ironed out. 

“We should try to make things right,” Carol said hoarsely as she pushed Therese’s jacket down her arms, letting it fall to the floor. “For the sake of everyone involved …” She inhaled loudly as Therese’s hands made their way inside her robe. Sliding her hands from Therese’s face, she quickly began undoing the buttons of Therese’s shirt. The frantic sounds of pulling fabric and gasping breaths filled the small kitchen as clothing haphazardly fell to the floor. 

Therese turned them both and backed Carol against the counter, kicking her own jeans out of the way as she did so. She held Carol’s wrists, stilling both of them for a moment. Placing Carol’s hands on the edge of the counter, she pressed them there, an unspoken appeal. Therese slipped one hand into Carol’s hair, pulling her down into the kiss they had both wanted for so long. Her other arm wrapped around Carol and pulled them together.

When Therese pushed her hips into Carol, Carol heard herself moan, the sound muffled by their hungry mouths. Carol slid her hand between them, fingers feeling through soft curls as they made their way downward, but Therese grabbed her hand and put it back on the counter’s edge. Carol closed her eyes, and let her head fall back as the kiss broke and Therese’s mouth made its way down to her neck, over her collarbone, and finally her breast. 

“Spread your legs.” 

Carol heard the whispered command and did as she was told, using the counter for support. Therese’s hand replaced her mouth on Carol’s breast and Carol felt Therese’s warm breath tickle the soft skin of her abdomen as Therese lowered herself to the floor. The agony, the irritation, the anger, and the regrets of the last few weeks swirled and brewed within Carol. She knew that in order to begin anew, the toxic combination that had long-possessed her quickly needed to be exorcised, and the placement of Therese’s mouth was well on its way to doing just that. So, it was of little surprise to both of them when a few short moments later, Carol’s guilt was abolished, forgiveness offered and accepted. The exhilaration of her climax may have lifted her off the floor, but it was Therese’s strong arms that were there to bring Carol’s shaking body back down.

 

* * *

 


	16. Salvaged

Carol sat with her back against the brushed stainless steel door of the dishwasher, the cool metal a welcome touch to her heated skin. Therese leaned against her, Carol’s arms wrapped loosely around her, slowly caressing Therese’s soft skin as their breathing slowed and a comfortable silence descended upon them. Carol nuzzled her face in the dark head of hair leaning against her chest, the sweet smell of a morning shampoo still lingering in its strands, its scent familiar. Carol’s robe lay crumpled under her calf, and Therese’s left foot rested on a discarded bra.

Gently smoothing her palm down a slender arm, Carol came to the hand that rested on her right thigh. Her fingers pushed forward, alternating with Therese’s, much like she had done with the ebony keys on her mother’s piano during the hours of practice she had hated as a young girl. Her mother, astute as she was though, had quickly realized her daughter’s aptitude laid in the visual rather than the musical arts, and the piano lessons had been short-lived.

Raising her other hand, Carol brushed back Therese’s hair. Lowering her face, Carol placed soft kisses along the parts of Therese’s neck that she could reach. When she reached the jawline, she turned Therese’s face with a gentle finger to her chin in order to kiss her lips. It was then that Carol first noticed the tears, their liquid paths easily visible under the kitchen’s harsh fluorescent lighting.

Pausing, Carol hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Rather than wipe them away as if they had no right to be there, Carol left the saline tracks in place and opted to place a small kiss near the corner of Therese’s eye, acknowledging them and letting Therese know her show of emotion was acceptable.

“My love,” Carol whispered into the ear next to her chin.

Turning her head in order to look at Carol, Therese smiled meekly. “I don’t really know why I’m crying. It’s just hard for me to believe I’m here,” Therese admitted. “I guess, in a way, they’re happy tears.”

Relieved by the admission, Carol kissed her, gently turning Therese’s body toward her in the process. “Will you stay the night?” Carol asked breathlessly, ready to leave the discomfort of the kitchen floor behind.

“Yes.”

With a small nudge from Carol, Therese stood up and then bent back down to gather the clothing scattered about the tile floor. “Leave it,” Carol gently ordered, taking Therese by the hand. “We can clean up in the morning. Rindy is staying with Abby.”

Therese dropped her jeans in a pile on the floor and grinned, her dimples emphasizing her happiness.

Carol walked backward, pulling Therese down the hallway. “Come with me.” She smiled, not only because the stunning, unclothed woman whose hand she held willingly followed her, but also because she noticed Therese’s tears had ceased.

As they passed the guest room, Carol saw Therese glance in at the bed that was still missing one pillow.  _ It’s too late now,  _ Carol thought, continuing down the hall.

Carol didn’t bother turning on the light in her bedroom. Enough moonlight fell across the bed to make it unnecessary. She wished she could quickly grab the guest room pillow that sat on top of the comforter’s matching pillows, spotlighted in the moon’s glow, but Therese had already noticed it. She just gave Carol a warm, understanding smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand reinforced it.

In the dim light, Carol pulled Therese to her, threading her fingers through long hair before they came to rest at the nape of Therese’s neck. Therese let her hands rest low on Carol’s hips. Pulling them together, Carol kissed her again with the intention of taking it slow, letting it build up gradually, but the desire between them had ideas of its own. The simple, soft press of their chests together, Therese’s hands caressing up and down her sides, and the sudden heat between them sent all prior intentions spiraling away into nothingness like wisps of smoke.

This was unlike anything Carol had experienced before. There was an urgency between them that hadn't been present in the past for Carol, and definitely not with Harge. Sex with him had been practical, almost methodical. This was something wild, visceral, undefinable. And it certainly didn’t seem to be one-sided.

Their kiss alone reminded Carol of when she spent summers as a child at her grandparents. She remembered the sheer joy of pulling a ripe peach from a branch with a snap, the feel of its velvety skin against her fingertips, the sun-warmed sweetness on her tongue. However, her hunger for Therese far exceeded anything she had remotely felt for any mundane piece of fruit, and she slid her hands eagerly over Therese’s back, feeling muscles and ribs and her breaths that came deep and fast.

Sending Therese backward onto the bed, Carol fell on top of her a split second later. With this new position’s advantage, she could communicate the intention of her kiss better, erase any flicker of doubt that might have lingered. And when Carol’s tongue delved deeper, Therese’s legs wrapped around her hips, trying to pull her closer. At the point when they both were breathless, Carol slid downward, her lips and tongue against Therese’s supple neck, Therese’s pulse thumping just under the surface, heat emanating from her skin. Carol drank her in, the taut pull of skin over clavicle and sternum, the plush fullness of her breasts and their hardened peaks. At the urging of Therese’s hands on her shoulders, she placed quick kisses along Therese’s stomach and protruding pelvic bone before arriving at her destination.

An image slowly materialized in Carol’s mind. She had wanted to be  _ here _ for some time with this woman beneath her. But it wasn’t just the physical nature of their connection that Carol desired. There were so many things about Therese that Carol had found alluring ever since Carol had stepped off the elevator that first day and spotted her. As Carol had spent more time with Therese, even throughout the last few strained weeks, her estimation and admiration of the woman had only grown. The love Carol had for Therese that had began as just a flicker had become a full-blown conflagration, unstoppable in its beauty, its consumption, and now its consummation.

As Therese held her breath, lifted her hips, and valiantly fought to delay the inevitable pleasure she sought for a few more seconds – to capture in time the sheer exhilaration of the moment – Therese found one of Carol’s hands. Interweaving their fingers together, the image became clear against the hazy velatura of Carol’s mind as Therese tightened her grip, the moment upon them.  _ It feels like coming home.  _

 

* * *

 

Therese watched the sheer curtains breathe in and out. Carol had cracked the window open before they finally slept, the radiant heat and sheen of their bodies the evidence of their lovemaking. Therese observed how the sunlight streaked the undulating fabric, making the cream curtains warm and yellow where the rays hit and a cool blue where they laid in shadow. It brought to mind a painting she had admired of Jeffrey Larsen’s once of a bedsheet hanging on a clothesline in the sunlight. She thought it looked beautifully challenging to paint, and she wanted to paint Carol’s curtains just as they existed that morning.

Right now, however, there were more pressing matters at hand – literally, the warm body pressed against her back and the hand that rested upon her hip. Placing her hand over Carol’s to keep it there, Therese shifted in the bed so that she laid on her back. Something caught her eye as Carol’s rhythmic breaths warmed her shoulder and neck. Therese lifted her head and blinked a few times. Hanging on the wall across from Carol’s bed was a painting. It was a vignette of a female nude, loosely painted, unfinished. And running from one corner of the framed painting to the other, Therese’s knowing eyes made out a long gash, still faintly visible although now expertly repaired from the backside of the canvas.

_ Carol saved it. _

With a small smile, Therese turned and admired the woman next to her, Carol’s blonde hair disheveled. She brushed her lips over Carol’s cheekbone. The hand on her waist pulled her closer, but Carol’s eyes remained closed.

“You little thief,” Therese whispered, brushing strands of hair off Carol’s temple before she placed a kiss there, too. Carol’s only response was an amused upturn of the corners of her mouth. Therese traced the curve of Carol’s ear with her nose and kissed the corner of her jaw.

“It’s not stealing if it’s in the garbage,” Carol murmured drowsily, but she pulled Therese on top of her.

“Dumpster diver,” Therese playfully accused Carol, her grin unseen but felt against Carol’s cheek, her fingertips brazenly kneading Carol’s nipples.

Carol opened her eyes, fully awake now. She pushed Therese up so that she was straddling Carol, her eyes wandering over Therese’s breasts. “Reduce. Reuse. Recycle,” Carol quipped with a quirk of an eyebrow. “ I’m environmentally conscious.  What can I say?” she rhetorically asked Therese with a smirk as she slipped a hand between them.

Therese gasped at the sudden contact and quickly embraced it. Eyes locked, neither spoke for a few moments as Carol earnestly took to her task. “That’s why you saved it?” Therese finally asked breathlessly, her eyelids unavoidably drooping.

“Is that a problem?” Carol inquired, her voice calm, her fingers anything but.

Therese’s head dropped to her chest, her eyes closed, her dark hair falling forward. One hand remained on Carol’s breasts, but it had significantly stilled. “No,” she managed to get out. “I just thought …” She struggled to find the words under the intense barrage of pleasure.

“What did you think?” Carol demanded to know, watching her intently.

“I just thought …” Therese rocked back and forth, her body sizzling with the immense anticipation. “I just thought … maybe ... there was another reason.” Her hips moved urgently, forcefully, desperately, her climax moments away.

“Therese, look at me,” Carol ordered. Therese lifted her head and fought to open her eyes, to meet those of the woman who spoke to her, loved her, and brought her to this place.

“Of course there was another reason,” Carol whispered tenderly to her lover, as the orgasm swept fiercely through Therese.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The painting by Jeffrey Larson can be seen here: https://tinyurl.com/mj825pe
> 
> You can view more of his work here: http://jeffreytlarson.com/


	17. Tempus Fugit

Therest of the morning consisted of soft kisses sprinkled between whispered conversations. Gentle hands traveled, explored, and leisurely took their time. This time, the sweet pleasure was found in the journey rather than just reaching the destination.

Caffeine cravings and adult obligations finally lured them out of the bedroom near midday.

Standing in the kitchen, Therese pressed _End_ on her cell phone’s screen and laid the device on the kitchen counter before addressing Carol.

“Ari was happy to cover my shift at the store tomorrow. She’s been asking for additional hours all month long.”

“Good. We can swing by and pick up Andy and some clothes for you and still be back here by 2:00 when Abby plans to drop off Rindy,” Carol told Therese as she topped off her coffee. “The kids will have fun hanging out together this weekend.”

Therese pushed herself away from the counter where she had been leaning and cupping her own coffee mug, wearing nothing but an old button-up shirt of Carol’s that hung partially open.

“They might not be the only ones having fun this weekend,” she teased, holding her hot mug to the side and leaning in to kiss Carol tenderly. Carol slid her free hand up Therese’s thigh and under the tails of the shirt until her palm rested on Therese’s waist. Therese let out a raspy breath.

“You’ll have to be good – at least until bedtime,” Carol chided her.

“Me? I’m an angel,” Therese murmured, moving her lips to the delicate skin of Carol’s neck. “You’re the one with a hand up my shirt.”

Carol scoffed and playfully pinched Therese’s waist, eliciting a chuckle from the younger woman.

 

* * *

 

Therese pushed the apartment door open as she pulled her key from the lock. “Hello,” she called. Carol followed her just inside, glancing around. Toys were scattered about and the curtains had yet to be pulled open.  

“We’re in here,” Dannie called from a bedroom as Andy shot out through the doorway and into his mother’s arms. Therese scooped him up and he clung tightly to her, burying his face in her long dark hair. Carol noticed that the young boy grasped a brick red boxcar in his left hand.

“Hi, baby.” Therese kissed his temple. “I missed you.”

Dannie appeared in the doorway holding a shiny, black locomotive that looked dwarfed in his large hand. When Therese met his eyes, he gave her the slightest shrug and a meaningful nod. “He’s been a little down this morning. I think he was just a little surprised you weren’t here when he woke up.” Dannie rubbed his son’s back and handed him the locomotive. “See, buddy, I told you she would be back soon.” He turned toward the woman still lingering just inside the door.

“Hi, Carol,” he said, enveloping her in a hug. Pulling back, he winked at her and Carol felt her cheeks flush. “It’s really good to see you this morning,” he said quietly.

“Thanks, Dannie.” Carol gave him a warm smile and squeezed his arm affectionately. She greatly appreciated his ease in making a potentially awkward moment anything but. Her already high esteem for the young man grew. In addition to his boyish good looks, he possessed a kind soul and she easily understood why Therese would have wanted him as the father for her child.

Therese sat down on the couch with Andy on her lap. Carol could see that she was concerned by her son’s demeanor, the sadness evident in her eyes. She spoke softly to the young boy, caressing his brown curls and assuring him she would always come back. As she continued to calm him, she helped him couple the train car to the engine. Dannie noticed the dim light in the room and pulled the curtains open before picking up an empty pizza box from the coffee table and taking it to the kitchen.

As he became less anxious, Andy noticed Carol for the first time. Once aware of her, his focus never left as he silently appraised her with his large, green eyes and their fringe of soft lashes. Carol smiled at him and saw a slight twitch in his rounded cheeks where she knew the dimples resided that matched his beautiful mother’s.

“Okay, ladies, I need to shower,” Dannie told them as he wandered back in from the kitchen on his way toward his bedroom. “Have a good day if you’re gone when I get out.”

“Thanks, Dannie,” Therese called after him. “Sit. Make yourself comfortable,” she told Carol. “I'm going to need a few minutes to pack.”

Carol walked around an arm chair and sat down. Andy suddenly clambered off Therese’s lap and dashed to the corner of the room. He dug around in a basket until he found what he was looking for. With his favorite book in hand, he headed straight for Carol and pushed the book into her hands so he could climb up on her lap. Therese watched with interest, her relief softening her face.

“He remembers you,” Therese told Carol, lighting up with a smile. “And he likes you,” Therese confided to her. “He doesn’t let just anyone read that book to him.”

This time it was Carol’s face that lit from within, an effect Therese found quite charming. She watched Carol pull the child in closer to her and open the book before them. Carol looked up to find her lover watching her.

“Go pack,” she told Therese, smile lines crinkling at the edges of her eyes. “This little guy and I have a book to read.”

 

* * *

 

Carol walked around the block with Andy, the toddler holding tightly to one of her fingers while Therese installed his child safety seat into the backseat of Carol’s sedan. When they completed their circuit and returned to her, Therese was giving the seat one final, violent shake to make sure there was minimal movement. Carol appreciated both Therese’s bent-over posture as she leaned into the car and the effect the shaking caused. Handing Andy to his mother, Carol leaned in close.

“Do you know what you do to me?” Carol asked her breathlessly.

It took Therese a second, but the smile the question generated gave Carol her answer. Moments later, with Andy secure and their bags loaded into the trunk, Carol finally eased the car into traffic, Therese’s warm hand resting on her right thigh.

However, as the city’s buildings and scenery slid by the windows, Therese became quieter and quieter until she was lost in her thoughts and stared blindly at everything and nothing. She had even withdrawn her hand from Carol’s leg and now nervously played with her fingers. Carol glanced in her rearview mirror to find Andy had fallen asleep, his head lolling to one side, lips agape. The silence in the car was was too much, suffocating, and she considered taking the easy route and just turning on the radio. Instead, she chose to address the void.

“What are you thinking?” Carol asked quietly.

Therese looked at the backseat before turning slowing and staring at Carol’s profile a moment before answering.

“He was so sad.”

She forlornly looked straight ahead again, her eyes welling with tears. Stopping at a red light, Carol reached over and took one of Therese’s hands in hers and waited for more. 

“I wasn’t expecting that.” Therese continued, wiping a stray tear. “When I left, I - well - I wasn’t thinking about how much it might affect him if he woke up and I wasn’t there. I’ve never spent the night apart from him.”

Carol could almost hear the guilt eating through the woman next to her. The light turned green and Carol proceeded.

“I remember the first night I had to leave Rindy. She must have been about 18 months old. Harge and I were invited to a weekend at a client’s cabin with him and his wife in Vermont. Of course I didn’t want to go, but Harge insisted we had to for the sake of appearances to seal a business deal. Even though Rindy stayed with Abby and I knew she was fine, I would have rather left my right arm behind. That night seems ages ago now. And then they get to an age where they _want_ to spend a night away from you. Time flies,” Carol lamented, ending her sympathetic tale with a squeeze of Therese’s hand.

“Does it get easier?” Therese asked in a way that belied her age, making her sound innocent and vulnerable.

Carol only gently squeezed her hand again, but said nothing. She pulled their joined hands back onto her right thigh and softly caressed Therese’s fingers with her thumb. After a few moments, she ventured onto a slightly different topic.

“How did Dannie become Andy’s father?” Carol asked.

“How? Like how did we do it?” Therese asked, abruptly giggling, her demeanor lifted. “Traditional method or turkey baster?”

“No! No, no, no,” Carol interrupted her, slightly embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant.” She knew she was flustered and probably blushing, but managed to laugh a bit, too. She tried to regain control of the conversation. “How did you decide to ask him to be the father? How did it transpire?”

“Well, we became best friends in art school right from the start. We have a connection that’s hard to explain. We’ve never been attracted to each other, but we have an amazing interpersonal bond. He is just the kindest, gentlest soul. He’s a really good person, and that’s hard to find. I knew that I wanted to raise a child. I always have. But I haven’t had much luck dating and I didn’t want to wait any longer to have a baby in case I never did meet someone special.” She hesitated, wanting to look at Carol but unable to find the nerve to do so.

“And Dannie knew all this?” Carol asked finally.

“Yes. I talked openly about it. And one day he just offered, no strings attached. I had to think about it, of course. We discussed it for awhile, what each of us was offering and expecting. I wanted him to know I wasn’t going to expect him to support the child, and he needed me to know he didn’t necessarily want to be a parent. He didn’t mind being a part of the child’s life, but he wasn’t looking to have that massive type of long-term responsibility in his life, whether it be full or part time. Don’t get me wrong, he adores Andy. But parenting is hard work and some people just know they’re not cut out for it. So, it has worked out rather nicely for us, I’d have to say.” Therese paused, waiting to see if Carol had questions.

“You’re lucky to have Dannie in your life,” Carol told her. “You two seem like a good match, even if just as friends.”

Therese nodded. “I’m very lucky. He’s the best friend I could hope for.” She leaned in closer to Carol and glanced to the backseat at her sleeping son before continuing. “And we’ve never had sex, just in case you were wondering.”

 

* * *

 

“Mama!”

Carol heard her daughter’s voice calling out before the elevator doors had even begun to open. When they recessed far enough for a slim child to slide through, Rindy bounced into the room, leaving Abby and Genevieve still in the elevator.

“Look at my nails!” Her young daughter held out her hands to her mother. “We had a girls’ night and Gen painted my nails for me.”

Carol appraised the child’s small fingernails that had been painted a light shade of pink.

“Can you see the glitter?” Rindy wiggled her fingers in front of her mother’s face, trying to catch the light.

“I can. They look beautiful. That was very nice of her. It sounds like you had a fun sleepover.” She kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

Abby and Gen entered the apartment carrying Rindy’s overnight bag and a stuffed rabbit with overly-large floppy ears. Therese stood up from the couch to greet both of them.

Rindy continued. “We also watched a movie and Aunt Abby made popcorn and gave me ice cream because I let her sit next to Gen on the couch.”

Carol and Therese laughed as Gen blushed and Abby shrugged.

“I never said it was going to be a bribe-free sleepover,” Abby interjected above everyone.

“It sounds like you had a great sleepover,” Carol told her daughter. “And I have good news for you: You get to have a sleepover tonight, too.” She pointed her finger and Rindy walked around the couch to find Andy playing on the floor in front of the couch.

“Andy! Really?” Rindy inquired with a giant grin. Andy looked up from the toys long enough to smile at her. “Andy gets to stay for a sleepover?”

“He does,” Carol told her. “Therese, too.”

Abby grinned and Gen shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Therese decided to change the subject, slightly uncomfortable even though she was sure the situation was no secret to anyone. She had noticed Carol texting when she had exited the bathroom after her shower. Carol had told her about Abby and Gen at some point during their morning in bed when they had quietly talked about a number of different things. Therese had wondered if the two women were attracted to each other, having seen some of their interactions in the studio, but she hadn’t known outright that they were dating. She was a bit relieved when Carol told her, due to still feeling bad for rebuking Gen not so very long ago.

“What are you two up to today?” Therese asked the two women who were standing quite close to each other. She glanced over as Rindy knelt next to her son and they began quietly playing.

“We’re going to check out the flea market. I need a new mirror. And then maybe we’ll do some day drinking.” Gen gave a sideways glance at Abby and grinned.

“Well, Abby dear, it sounds like a pretty normal Saturday for you - with a flea market thrown in,” Carol said, teasing her.

“You’re just jealous because they won’t let you drink at Gymboree,” Abby retorted.

Carol laughed. “You’re right. We’ll have to think of someone else to do.” Her eyes darted to Therese with a twinkle and a flash of a smile.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it then. See you ladies Monday morning. Don't be late for my class,” Abby told Therese with a wink, her hand gently touching the small of Gen’s back. “Good bye, Miss Rindy. Thanks for spending time with your old aunt.”

“Wait!” Rindy pushed herself up from her knees and left Andy to rush toward Abby and Gen. She managed to get enough of her small arms around both their legs to awkwardly hug them. “Thanks, Aunt Abby,” she said before loudly whispering, “I was good and didn’t say anything about all the candy we ate.”

 

* * *

 

It was Therese who finished placing the last of the dinner dishes in the dishwasher while Carol poked her head in to see if Rindy had finally fallen asleep. Andy had crumpled into an exhausted little heap between them on the couch not even halfway into the movie, his head resting on Carol’s thigh. Curled up with one of Carol’s arms around her, Therese had watched Carol’s manicured nails run through her son’s hair over and over. She valiantly tried to remember a time aside from Andy’s birth when she had been happier.

Both children were sleeping peacefully in the small bed and Carol adjusted the blankets to cover both of them. She loved how easily they got along: Rindy loving and protective of the young boy, wanting to show and teach him everything, and Andy following her daughter around like an adoring shadow with a continuous display of dimples.

Andy had one arm around the neck of Rindy’s stuffed rabbit, while one of the strangled animal’s ears was pinned under Rindy’s shoulder. Carol gently kissed her daughter’s forehead and after a moment’s hesitation, pressed her lips against the dark lock of hair plastered to Andy’s temple. He stirred slightly so she laid her hand on his stomach and he relaxed with a loud exhale of breath.

Therese was just drying her hands when Carol came back to her, brushing Therese’s long hair aside from behind to nuzzle her face into Therese’s neck. Therese leaned back into the contact, her head resting on Carol’s shoulder, the towel forgotten in her hand. While alternately kissing her neck and jawline, Carol’s hands held the sides of Therese’s waist before inching downward to find her hipbones. Once there, she pulled the shorter woman toward her firmly, pressing their bodies together.

“Does this mean they’re both asleep?” Therese murmured her question groggily, eyelids closed.

“Mm-hmm.” Carol’s voiced hummed along her throat, soft lips and a flicks of tongue cascading her quickly toward the event both had spent most of the day and evening thinking about. “And the night has just begun.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is dedicated to calliesghost. 
> 
> And I bestow tons of gratitude on Ligeria for generously helping me out at the drop of a hat.
> 
> And thank you all for the even 600 kudos. Love you all. <3


	18. Bed and Breakfast

“I hate Mondays,” Therese mumbled into her pillow. Carol admired the bedraggled yet beautiful woman in her bed as she traced Therese’s shoulder with a single finger before lowering her head to kiss it.

“Even if you get to spend Monday with me?” Carol asked her, brushing Therese’s hair back from her face with her fingers. Green eyes opened and gazed at her.

“I’d rather spend it in bed with you,” Therese answered, rolling on her side.

Carol leaned over to kiss her, soft lips meeting tenderly. “Well, that goes without saying,” Carol told her. She gently tugged the sheet off her lover’s torso before letting her fingertips ghost along Therese’s exposed skin. “So, I guess I’ll just have to send you into this Monday with something to think about.” Carol shifted, pulling Therese beneath her. The younger woman wrapped her arms around Carol’s neck. Carol hovered above her as she kissed Therese’s forehead, eyebrow, cheekbone, chin, and then chest. Therese freed her legs and wrapped them around Carol, pulling her downward. Carol settled the weight of her lower body against her lover and felt a reciprocal push upward where their hips met. She loved that in just a few moments, Therese’s breathing had already quickened. She then realized her own breaths were coming just as rapidly.

Carol brushed over Therese’s breast before cupping the soft flesh and its hardened nipple in her palm. She traced the other with her lips before taking it into her mouth. Therese groaned from the pleasure and wound her fingers in the hair at the nape of Carol’s neck.

“Quiet,” Carol admonished her with a small smile, breaking contact for a moment before she renewed her task with increased vigor. Her free hand swept down Therese’s side and hip before making a turn toward her center. Carol casually touched and teased just around and near where she knew she would end up, but Therese fast-forwarded the action by grabbing her hand and placing it where she wanted it. Her arousal having skyrocketed from the simple act, Carol eagerly pressed and rubbed her open hand against her lover. Therese moaned a happy affirmation, her head thrown back.

“Shhhh,” Carol warned, kissing Therese between her breasts. Fingers sufficiently slippery, she placed them at Therese’s entrance. Meeting her lover’s gaze, she entered the younger woman at the same time their mouths collided into a kiss that said everything their voices could not.

As Carol slid her fingers in and out of her lover, she reveled in the way Therese's body writhed beneath her, the way her hands grasped and held Carol tightly, the way their foreheads and lips took turns being in contact with each other.

Carol began to descend down Therese's body, her mouth never leaving Therese's damp skin.

“No,” Therese whispered, her hands cupping Carol’s face. “Stay here.” She kept one hand on Carol’s cheek and reached the other between her own legs.

Carol held herself up with one arm and leaned down to kiss Therese, her tongue exploring much the same way her fingers were. When she pressed her fingertips upward with each thrust, Therese turned her head and broke their joined mouths as she gasped an elongated, “Oh!”

“Quiet, baby,” Carol whispered, her nose and lips pressed against Therese’s jaw.

“F-faster,” Therese urgently whispered, her quiet plea heard loud and clear and quickly answered.

And as her orgasm Thelma and Louised her toward the edge, Therese clung to Carol and fought against the sounds that so desperately wanted to leave her throat. As her body catapulted over the abyss, freed and flying, it was Carol’s name that escaped Therese’s lips past the muffled kiss.

 

* * *

 

“Rindy. Shoes.” Carol again instructed her daughter to finish dressing instead of playing with Andy. Therese had showered and was finishing up in the bathroom. Rindy reluctantly stood up, shuffling her feet as she exited her mother’s bedroom.

“I can’t find them,” her daughter called from her own bedroom down the hall.

“Check the living room,” Carol told her as she glanced at Andy playing with his beloved train cars on the floor. She picked up her watch from her nightstand and slipped it on her wrist. Therese opened the bathroom door, steam and fresh herbal scents filling the room. Her hair was wet and uncombed, a towel draped on her shoulders. She shyly smiled when she noticed Carol watching her. Their moment was soon interrupted.

“Mom!”

Carol’s head jerked around at the way her daughter yelled her name. She stood up from where she had been sitting on the edge of the bed and rushed toward the sound of her daughter’s distraught voice.

“The elevator’s open!”

As Carol turned into the long hallway, she saw that the elevator was indeed open. In three quick strides, she arrived at the place her daughter was frozen. With one arm, she pushed Rindy behind her. “Go to Therese. Now.” The young girl hesitated only a moment before retreating down the hallway. As Carol moved into the open area, she scanned the periphery for movement or anything out of the ordinary. Stepping around the couch to peer behind it, she was relieved to find the space vacant except for a pair of little girl’s shoes. Turning around, her eyes met Therese’s who stood just outside the master bedroom, her hand on the doorknob.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“It appears so,” Carol stated. “I don’t know why it’s open though.”

Therese walked down the hallway toward the elevator. “There’s something inside.”

Due to her frantic reaction, Carol hadn’t even noticed the white envelope taped to the back wall of the elevator. Therese stepped inside and pulled it off. By now, both children had wandered down the hall and stood near Carol. Therese handed the alabaster envelope to Carol, coming to stand by her side as she opened it. On the outside the letters “C & T” were written. Carol slid a perfectly red nail under the flap and flipped it open. A yellow card was inside. As she pulled it out, they both read the beautifully calligraphed quote written on the front:

 

_"We see them exchange a glance or betray a deep emotion, and we are no longer strangers. We understand them and take the warmest interest in the development of the romance. All mankind loves a lover."_

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

“I’d know that calligraphy anywhere,” Therese volunteered. “Dannie,” she whispered.

“And since only you and one other person have the code to the third floor, that narrows things down,” Carol told her.

“Abby,” Therese confirmed. “They’re in cahoots.” She giggled.

Carol opened the card. Indeed, in Abby’s handwriting an invitation read, “Please join us downstairs for breakfast.” The card was signed with a simple heart.

“I know Abby has been feeling guilty for not giving her bakery friend much business since she’s been seeing Gen. I bet she brought doughnuts,” Carol mused. “I’m not exactly keen on starting Rindy’s morning with a doughnut, but this is a really sweet gesture.”

“They’re awesome,” she agreed. “Well, kids, it sounds like we’re eating breakfast downstairs. Who’s hungry?” Therese tickled both kids in their midsections before she pulled the towel off her shoulders and headed down the hallway to comb her hair.

 

* * *

 

The unmistakable and delightful smell of bacon filled the air as they stepped off the elevator.

Just as they suspected, Dannie and Abby were in the studio waiting for them. However, what they didn’t expect was everyone else in attendance, too. And glancing around, they realized it was not just Phil and the rest of the students. Carol also spotted Ruby sipping a mimosa and chatting with Genevieve. And a grinning Andy broke into a run toward the kitchen where he was scooped up by his grandmother who was wearing a red apron and held a spatula in one hand.

“Good morning, ladies,” Dannie met them both outside the elevator with a huge smile.

“You made your mom come cook breakfast?” Therese asked Dannie, giving him an affectionate punch in the arm.

“Are you kidding? She was more than thrilled to come help. Plus, her picking up Andy saves you having to drive him to her. I noticed your car was at home.” Dannie glanced over to where his mother held their son on her hip as she flipped pancakes. “Hey, kiddo, are you hungry?” Dannie asked Rindy, ruffling her hair. “We have pancakes, french toast, and a bunch of other stuff. Can I help you fix a plate?” He held out his hand to the young girl. She skipped alongside him into the kitchen where Phil was carefully extricating a perfectly golden Belgian waffle from a waffle maker and Jeanette was cracking eggs into a bowl. Tommy stood at the stove frying bacon and sausage links. Dannie threw an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and stole a piece of warm bacon before kissing him on the cheek.

Therese leaned toward Carol who was still watching the ensemble cast in her studio. “This is pretty nice of them, isn’t it?” she asked the blonde woman who remained in awe next to her.

Carol looked around. Abby poured herself a cup of coffee as she talked with Jack and Richard. “It’s amazing,” Carol agreed. “I can’t believe everyone went to all this effort.”

As they made their way toward the kitchen, they watched as Aileen handed the toddler on her hip a silver dollar pancake. Andy began to take a bite and changed his mind. “Rindy,” he said clearly, leaning over and handing the small pancake down to the young girl standing between his grandmother and his father. Rindy accepted the pancake with a smile. She took a bite and offered it back to the happy little boy.

“He said her name!” Therese exclaimed happily, looking up at Carol who was just as moved by the encounter.

“He’s such a sweetheart to share with her,” Carol told her. “Rindy’s quite fond of him, you know.”

“I think it’s mutual. I’ve never seen that boy share a pancake with anyone,” Therese confessed. “So, he must like her quite a bit.” Therese stepped closer and lightly touched Carol’s wrist. “I’m starving,” Therese told her quietly. “I can’t imagine why.” And with a smirk, she strode into the kitchen.

Carol walked over to the table where Abby was now unwrapping a stack of napkins. “Abby,” Carol started, before she threw her arms around her best friend. “Thank you.”

“You’re smashing the napkins, you nitwit.” Abby laughed and she pulled the package from between them. “You’re welcome, Carol, but I had help. Everyone offered to either bring something or help cook. Ruby was kind enough to bring us her cook’s griddle and waffle iron and Aileen is doing a damn fine impersonation of a short-order cook over there. You know me - I don’t know how to make a pancake, let alone do it with a child in one arm.” She shook her head in amazement.

“Still, to have everyone come together like this. It … it’s just a wonderful way to start the week. I really do appreciate it, Abby. I know you’re behind it and it means a lot to me.” Carol put an arm around her friend.

Abby fanned out the napkins on the table. “You said at the beginning of the year that we’re all family, right? And unless that’s just lip service, family supports each other and celebrates positive times in each other’s lives. So, we’re all here this morning for you and Therese, for Dannie and Tommy, and for Gen and me.” Abby paused to take a drink of her coffee.

“What did you bring to this feast?” Carol asked her.

“I brought the champagne of course, darling!” Abby chuckled. “Why don’t you go have a mimosa. Ruby will set you up.”

 

* * *

 

“Aileen.” Therese gave the woman a peck on her cheek. “I’m so happy to see you here. Thank you for coming. And for cooking!”

“Of course, sweetheart. The pleasure is mine,” the red-haired woman said smiling. “When Dannie told me what they had planned, I knew I wanted to be here. You know you’re like a daughter to me, Therese. To see you happy warms my old heart,” she said earnestly as she cupped Therese’s cheek.

“Thank you,” Therese replied. “But you don’t even qualify for AARP yet, so let’s stop with the “old” nonsense.” She gave Aileen a one-armed hug. “Do you want me to take him?” Therese asked her, holding out her arms to Andy. He didn’t budge a hair.

“No, he’s fine,” Aileen told her. “He’s helping me and keeping me company.” She kissed Andy’s nearest cheek.

“Helping make the pancakes disappear, maybe.” Therese laughed as she watched her son gnawing on another silver dollar pancake.

 

* * *

 

After greeting the rest of her friends, Therese headed toward the food. Her plate filled with half of a waffle topped with a warm cranberry compote and mascarpone cream, what appeared to be a spinach frittata with goat cheese, a sausage link, and some potatoes, Therese found a spot on one of the couches to sit. Richard, Phil, and Jack sat in nearby armchairs eating from heaping plates of food in between a conversation about football and Rindy kneeled at the coffee table as she ate a waffle with strawberries and some scrambled eggs with cheese. Noticing the young girl was having trouble cutting her waffle, Therese put her own plate down and leaned forward.

“Here, let me help you, hon.” Using her own knife, she quickly cut the waffle into bite-sized pieces.

“Thanks, Therese.” Rindy quickly popped a bite into her mouth. Dannie came over with a loaded plate in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other. He set the orange juice just above Rindy’s plate.

“Here you go, Rin.” Placing his own plate on the coffee table, he sat next to Therese. “I’m eating as much as my stomach will allow and then eating some more,” he joked. “It’s not every day my mom makes me breakfast.”

Therese looked at his plate to see a large stack of pancakes in the center of all the foods piled high. “I’m surprised Andy left you any pancakes.”

“Right? I wonder how many he has eaten already,” Dannie mused before shoving a forkful of pancake into his own mouth. He looked up across the room to where Aileen and Andy still held vigil over the griddle.

“How did he sleep?” Dannie asked her.

“Andy? He slept great. He’s a lucky boy. Rindy was nice enough to share her bed with him.” Therese gently touched the girl’s head. Rindy turned around and smiled at her.

Carol approached the group carrying two mimosas, both of which she sat on the coffee table in front of Therese.

“Thanks, baby. No food for you?” Therese asked her, looking up from cutting her fritatta with the side of her fork.

“My plate is over there,” Carol explained. “I wanted to bring the drinks over first.” She turned back to the kitchen.

Returning with plate in hand, Carol eyed the seating situation. Dannie scooted far to his left and patted the space between him and Therese.

“There’s room for you here, Carol,” he told her around a bite of bacon.

“I’m fine, here. Thank you, Dannie.” Carol gracefully half-sat, half-leaned on the arm of the couch next to Therese.

Therese swung her arm holding her plate out wide and patted her leg with the other hand. “Do you want to sit on my lap?” she asked playfully with a sparkle in her eye.

Rindy giggled. Carol glanced around the small group before looking down at Therese with eyes that were not amused. “No.” She remained perched on the arm of the sofa as she ate her breakfast.

Slightly taken aback by Carol’s reaction, Therese pondered what it meant. Had she gone too far? She knew some people were uncomfortable with any kind of display of affection in front of others, and it struck her when she realized she had no idea if Carol was or not. There was so much they needed to learn about each other. Or perhaps Carol was still hung up about the whole teacher student issue. But just as she was worrying herself into a hole, Carol reached over and stabbed a bite of waffle covered in the cranberry sauce and cream from Therese’s plate.

“But I will have a bite of this, darling,” Carol told her with a compromising wink.

Buoyed by the change in Carol’s demeanor, Therese relaxed, enjoyed her food and the closeness of the woman she adored, and simply basked in the well of love and friendship surrounding them.

 

 


	19. A Woman's Work

From his vantage point in the doorway of a building a half a block away, he leaned against the portico and took a drag off his cigarette. The lit end flared a bright orange in the moonless dark, but he knew no one was around to see or to care so he didn’t try to shield it. This was where he came to think, to ruminate on the past and plan for the future. Those were the two things that really mattered: the time he _had_ spent and _would_ spend with her. The present was something he viewed with disdain, the break in time in which she existed without him. However, he hoped that the present would soon transition into a future where they were together once more. Figuring out how to convince Carol of his forgone conclusion was the problem. That’s why he stood in the cold tonight. He did his best thinking knowing she was just yards away sleeping.

He pulled a flask from his back pocket and took a swig. The liquid coated his throat in warmth that the ambient air lacked. He could see his breath even when he wasn’t blowing out carcinogenic toxins from his lungs. Glancing at his feet, he kicked at the expired butts with the toe of his boot. He wondered who cleaned them up every morning. Deep in thought, he almost missed the light come on up on the third floor of Atelier Aird. His cigarette forgotten, he watched mesmerized as a shape moved behind the curtains a moment later. It was the distinctively feminine shadow of a woman, and the thought of Carol quickly excited him. Then, he remembered the proclivities that were part of the reason Carol was in his past and not his present. The knowledge that it could be another woman with her angered him. He pulled his flask back out for a long dram that burned his esophagus and made him wince despite his familiarity with the strong beverage.

The light extinguished and another light illuminated on the opposite end of the third floor. It was on for only a matter of seconds before it too switched off. Darkness reigned supreme once again and he raised the cigarette to his mouth, the papered exterior clinging to his damp lips as he inhaled.

He thought he heard a noise amid the dull hum of traffic a few streets over, but when he looked up, he couldn’t see what had made the sound. Seconds later, beams of headlights illuminated a nearby building as a car pulled out from the alley behind the atelier. He craned his neck to see the vehicle or its driver, but the sudden flash of headlights as the car turned toward him left him blinded. Motionless, he wondered who was leaving Carol’s at this ungodly hour and why. He considered following the car, but his own SUV was parked around the corner a half a block away. The vehicle that just left would be long gone.

Crushing his cigarette beneath the toe of his boot, he ground the remaining tobacco into the pavement. He turned his collar up high, both to guard against the chill and just in case Carol had installed any security cameras. Aware that he would be breaking the restraining order’s mandate of staying at least 100 feet away, he fervently hoped she hadn't. Walking quickly on the opposite side of the street with his head down, he waited to cross until he passed the atelier and could slip directly into the alley. Coming around the corner of the brick building, he realized it wasn’t necessary to risk exposing himself any further. There was only one car parked behind the atelier and it belonged to his wife. His _ex_ -wife, he reminded himself bitterly. He turned around and retraced his steps back to his SUV.

Once inside his vehicle, he turned the heat on high and pushed the button for the seat warmer. Normally he would stay later, but the temperature had been dropping and the adrenaline coursing through him had made him anxious and agitated. Rubbing his hands together to warm them, he wondered if he had drank too much to drive home this soon, but quickly decided he would risk it. Plus, the rest of the Szechuan beef he had ordered for lunch was in his refrigerator, and his stomach was growling.

He felt an unhealthy rush of excitement despite not being able to glimpse the mystery car or its driver. Excitement and perturbation - he wanted to know exactly _who_ was in that car. And he planned to find out. He shifted the SUV into Drive.

There was always tomorrow night.

 

* * *

 

Fumbling in the darkness for the switch, Therese turned on the lamp beside her. She immediately leaned over the edge of the bed as far as she could to grab the ankle of her jeans that lay strewn on the floor where she had discarded them. Pulling them toward her, she slipped her phone from the back pocket.

“What’s wrong?” Carol heard her ask the caller. From the lack of salutation and those two words, Carol knew it was Dannie on the other end of the line. She sat up in bed, pulling the blankets up around her exposed breasts and hoped for the best.

“I’ll be right there,” Therese said curtly, ending the call.

“Andy?” Carol asked, although she already knew the answer. It’s the third time this week Therese had left Carol’s bed in the middle of the night.

“Dannie can’t get him to stop crying. He even tried letting Andy sleep in his bed with him.” Therese hurriedly pulls on her jeans and looks around for her shirt and bra. “Shit,” she cursed, exasperated.

“You could have brought him,” Carol suggested, but she knew what the response would be.

“He should sleep in his own bed. He needs some stability. I don’t leave until he’s asleep and I’m there before he wakes. I don’t know why he’s waking up in the middle of the night. He hasn’t done that in a long time.” Shoving her feet into her tennis shoes, Therese stood up and leaned over the bed. “I’m sorry.” She kissed Carol on the cheek. Carol made no move to reciprocate the kiss. In fact, she acted like she hadn't even felt it. She appeared to be deep in thought as Therese gathered her remaining belongings. Finally, Carol swung her legs over the bed.

“Don’t get up. I can let myself out,” Therese said.

“I’m going to watch you on camera until you’re safe in your car,” Carol informed her, already tying the belt on her bathrobe.

“I gotta run,” Therese apologized from the doorway. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Carol said somberly, meeting her eyes. “Text me when you get home.”

 

* * *

 

It laid open near her full cup of coffee. She had read and reread the letter umpteen times now. Carol had found it on the kitchen counter when she had awoken. She knew there had been no time to write it before she left in the night, so Therese had written it in anticipation, knowing this moment would be upon them.

The letter described Therese’s sorrow, her regret, her confusion, and mostly her deep and unwavering love for her son.

 

_“My dearest Carol,_

_Despite the feelings I have for you and the desire to sleep wrapped in your embrace, I am his mother and he needs me. I don’t want him waking up in the middle of the night wondering where I am or why he isn’t important enough for me to be there for him. I don’t want my son to suffer through the terrible feelings I drowned in as a child. There is nothing worse than wondering if you are loved. He deserves to have a stable home, to sleep soundly in his bed at night, to know that I love him and cherish him. I know you're frustrated, but please try to understand. I need to put his needs before mine. This isn’t how I want it to be either, but I don’t know what else to do._

_Always yours, Therese.”_

 

Carol sat wallowing in a myriad of feelings, her mood sullen and dark despite the rising sun. Her cup of coffee now matched the temperature in the room. She discovered she had no stomach for the liquid she normally loved after she had read the letter.

As a mother herself, she understood where Therese was coming from. However, she also knew that she missed Therese when she wasn’t with her. No, _missed_ wasn’t even close to what she felt, but Carol was pretty certain words didn’t exist to describe the void inside her. If the vast emptiness had been there before Therese, she had been unaware of it. Since the brunette had entered her life, Carol was keenly aware of the giant chasm inside her when Therese wasn’t around. Every minuscule sound, every instance she couldn’t turn and share something with Therese ricocheted and echoed around her own emptiness until it died a lonely, silent death.

Carol considered herself to be a fair and understanding person, but this wasn't fair to anyone involved. She didn't understand why everything had to be so difficult. She flicked the open letter with the back of her hand and sent it flying across the kitchen island and sailing off the other side. It fluttered to the floor out of her view.

_It just can’t go on like this,_ she thought to herself.

 

* * *

 

When Therese arrived for Carol’s class Monday, she stopped at her easel to throw her purse in her taboret. Carol was in her office rifling through a stack of papers on her desk looking for something. Therese entered Carol’s office, not knowing what kind of mood to expect.

“Hi,” she said, walking toward Carol. Carol looked up briefly, but still continued to flip through the paperwork. Therese leaned forward to kiss her, both as a greeting and as an apology for leaving in the middle of the night, but Carol stepped back slightly and cupped Therese’s cheek for a moment instead.

“Hi.” Letting her hand fall, Carol went back to looking for whatever she was searching for.

Feeling the sting of being rebuffed, Therese stood still for a moment before speaking. “Are you afraid someone out there might see me kiss you, or are you angry with me?” Therese’s voice was soft, vulnerable.

Carol stopped her search momentarily. “You know that I much prefer keeping our affections somewhat private. I realize they all know we have … well … _something_ going on, but I still need to be their teacher when I’m down here. And no, I’m not angry with you, Therese. I’m unhappy with the situation.”

_Something going on._ Therese heard Carol’s words and reflected on Carol’s distant demeanor. She wondered just how much of Carol’s mood was due to the letter Therese had left on the kitchen counter. Carol had not reached out to her at all yesterday. Their last interaction had been when she had texted Carol when she got home in the middle of the night. Carol’s “sleep well” was all Therese had subsisted on for over 24 hours, meager crumbs for a hunger that was indefinable.

“Did you and Rindy have a good day yesterday?” Therese asked her. Carol straightened up suddenly from her pile of papers with what appeared to be the document she had been looking for in her right hand, and dropped the rest of the stack on her desk.

“I was busy painting. Rindy mostly just played.” Carol met Therese’s eyes now, her usually sublime pools of blue clouded and unreadable. Therese longed to get lost in those eyes, to float in their safety and comfort, but these were not the eyes she was used to seeing. Carol was standing two feet away from her and it might as well have been two miles.

“Did you start a new painting?” Therese’s brows furrowed as she turned around to look at Carol’s empty easel. She hadn’t remembered seeing a canvas there when she had arrived, and her glance back confirmed it. If Carol was working on a painting, she must be painting it in her apartment upstairs. Therese wondered why she wouldn’t just work on it at her easel in the studio like she always did.

“Is the painting …” Therese tried to ask another question, but Carol cut her off by raising the paper she was holding in her hand.

“I found what I was looking for. It’s time for class to start, Therese.” Carol walked past her into the studio.

Dumbfounded, Therese felt the sting of tears begin to form and it angered her. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to compose herself. She was irritated that she couldn’t read what was going on with the one person she wanted to know and understand more than anyone else on the planet. Most of all, she was saddened that Carol refused to open up to her, to allow her inside. Whatever turmoil Carol was going through - and Therese was certain that her letter was a part of it - Carol seemed determined to approach it alone. There were times when she felt like she didn't know Carol Aird at all.

 

* * *

 

“Before we start today’s lesson,” Carol told the class, “there are a few things I want to talk to you about. I want to let you all know about an opportunity next year.” Therese recognized the piece of paper Carol held in her hand, the same one Carol had been searching for in her office.

“A notice has been been posted for a study abroad program in Firenze beginning in June of next year.” Carol referenced her sheet, “The winner will receive a paid residency consisting of room and board, a shared studio space, a year of free entry into all the major Florentine museums, and a show in a gallery in downtown Firenze at the culmination of the residency program. Applications are to be submitted by December 12th. The Florentine Artists Association will make its decision December 18th, just before the holiday break.”

Carol looked around at all her students. “I hope all of you will take advantage of this opportunity and submit an application. Abby or I would be happy to write a recommendation for any of you. As you know, we both attended an atelier there. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live and study in one of the most iconic cities in the art world for an entire year. Who knows? Perhaps one of you will paint your way into the annals of Florentine history.” Her eyes fell on Therese. “Please see me if you would like a copy of the application.”

Therese quickly looked away as she felt the flames of confusion and embarrassment spread to her face. Did Carol want her to apply to live half a world away for an entire year? Had she misread whatever this _something_ between them was? Perhaps Therese thought their relationship was more important than Carol did. Why else would Carol make that suggestion while looking directly at _her_? Was Carol pushing her away?

Jeanette spoke up. “Maybe Therese will win and be the first great female painter in Florence, considering the only Italian painters we hear about are men - Caravaggio, Michelangelo, Leonardo, Raphael, etcetera.” She shook her head disapprovingly.

“It’s true,” Carol confirmed, “we rarely hear the names of many famous female painters in history in general. But there was a fantastic female painter in Florence during the 17th century. Her work certainly stands on its own **;** however, she is unfortunately known for a terrible incident in her life.” Carol sat on the edge of her stool. “Artemisia Gentileschi was raped by her tutor. Her father ended up pressing charges and the trial went on for seven months. During that time, Artemisia was tortured and forced to undergo a gynecological exam while in the courtroom. The tutor was eventually found guilty and told to leave Florence, but word is that his exile was never enforced. Artemisia continued to paint though, and many think the ordeal influenced her art, especially her painting of a beheading called _Judith Slaying Holofernes._ Many think the painting was a form of catharsis for her.” Amid murmurs, Carol stood up again. “But let’s refocus. If you’re interested in the opportunity in Firenze, you need to get your applications in early. Don’t wait until too close to the holidays.” Again, she turned her eyes on Therese, but this time Therese was expecting it and avoided her gaze.

Carol turned and laid the paper on her taboret. “Speaking of the holidays,” Carol continued, “let’s talk about what the holiday party will entail. The party will be held downstairs in the gallery. It will be a formal event. We expect all of you to be in attendance because many of the gallery’s clients will be coming as will other important people in the art circle. It’s a great chance for you to meet people and to see what a gallery show is like because hopefully you all will have your own shows in the future. You will need to choose at least five pieces of your work that you have completed this semester and work directly with Ruby to get them framed and ready to show. You are welcome to invite family and friends. Just inform Ruby who will be on your RSVP list.”

 

* * *

 

Therese worked tirelessly on her paintings day after day. It was grueling, especially the mental part of it. If painting was making thousands upon thousands of tiny decisions, then she had certainly made millions during the week. Despite her confusion surrounding Carol, at least she could see that her painting was making progress. Abby was thrilled with the way Therese’s trompe l’oeil was turning out and had gushed over her handling of the portrait of Therese’s grandmother many times. Carol, while fully ensconced in her teacher role, commended Therese on her progress on her figure painting for Carol’s class. Other than those rare moments, she and Carol hadn’t really spoken much.

The invitations for Therese to stay the night had also stopped. This wasn’t really surprising since Therese had left Carol the letter. Therese knew she needed to be there for her son, but she also didn’t expect Carol to meekly comply without a discussion, some cajoling, or even a fight. It’s not like she could ask Carol to stay the night either. Carol had Rindy full time and Therese and Andy were already squeezed into a small bedroom.

Therese felt she was left without a choice as far as the letter was concerned. But now that her request had been granted, there was something developing inside her, something that didn’t belong: a rapidly growing tumor of regret. What had she expected to happen? She was stuck in an uncomfortable limbo of not having, not knowing, and worst of all - not knowing how long Carol’s strange behavior would last.

Each night, exhausted after spending her days at the atelier, her nights at the art store, and as much quality time with Andy as she could, Therese would fall into her bed. However, instead of the sleep she needed and welcomed, thoughts of Carol filled her mind. Meanwhile, her heart lay empty and barren.

 

“And the nighttime was the worst

It shows you all the things you’ve lost

There’s no light in here now

There’s no light in here now”

 

_-10,000 Weight in Gold_ by The Head and the Heart

  



	20. Defining Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ligeria really worked hard this time. I'm not sure I've ever gotten my beta back so littered with stupid mistakes. Apparently I can't even use spell check. So, you all have her to thank for being able to read through this chapter smoothly without thinking what an idiot I am every other line. Thanks, L! <3
> 
> Lastly, to all the new Kudos - I'm humbled. You may not know, but I get emails notifying me when I receive them, and you all bring a smile to my face every damn time. Thank you.

* * *

 

He turned off the radio. The incessant Christmas songs littering every station were making his ears bleed and his brain hurt. His hangover was worse than usual, and he uncapped his flask to try to lessen the pounding that was a direct result of his antics the night before. He had to admit that it was getting more difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t drunk or wasn’t trying to recover from a drinking episode.

Leaning his seat back a notch, he watched the front door of Atelier Aird as snowflakes began to fall. Students had been trickling in over the last half hour. He felt exposed being so close in the daylight. His black SUV was a recent addition that Carol had never seen, so that gave him solace. He just wanted a few minutes to talk with her, that’s all. Once he was able to explain, he knew she would understand and this mess between them could be filed in the past. One opportunity was all he needed.

The front window was starting to fog, so he rolled the driver’s side down a few inches. Lighting a cigarette, he focused his attention back on the school. Minutes later, Carol’s car came into view. He sat up straighter. She turned to park behind the atelier. Shutting off his engine, he made to exit the car, but another car turned in right behind her. Cursing his luck, he started his vehicle again and flicked the wiper blades to clear the front window. He had been so close to being able to speak with Carol alone and now someone else was there, too. To calm his agitated nerves, he took another swig from his flask and tossed the near-empty stainless steel container on the seat beside him. A few moments later, Carol came walking around the corner of the building with a slightly shorter brunette. Carol’s arms were laden with brown paper bags and the brunette carried a medium-sized box and a bag in her other hand. She opened the door for Carol with a card and they walked inside. Frustrated, Harge flicked his cigarette out the window into the street.

A sharp rap on the passenger’s side window startled him. One glance and he knew instantly it meant trouble. She gestured to let her inside, so he begrudgingly pressed the button.

“Carol may not know that you have a new vehicle, Harge, but I do,” she said, picking up the flask with two fingers and handing it to him with disdain as she got in. “I know a lot of things, Harge.” She slammed the door shut. The look in Ruby’s eyes was enough to melt the accumulated snow near his wiper blades. “You stink,” she continued. “Not only does it smell like bourbon in here, but I can smell yesterday’s stench coming from your pores. When are you going to get some help?”

“I’m fine. I just need to talk to Carol. Just for a few minutes,” he argued, not meeting her eyes.

“You are not fine and you will do no such thing. Have you forgotten she has a restraining order against you? If you were parked 20 feet closer, I’d be calling the police right now,” she told him angrily. She pulled her coat around her tighter as if to keep out the stench from the car.

“You don’t understand,” he said, wallowing in his depressed and inebriated state, “I just need to explain everything to her.”

“Here’s the thing, Harge.” Ruby sighed, exasperated. “She doesn’t want your explanations, she doesn’t want to talk, and she doesn’t want to see you. Carol has moved on and you need to do the same.” Running one hand through her black and white hair, she went on. “I’m putting a stop on this month’s check. You’ll have to find a way to purchase your own bourbon. You knew our deal: stay away from Carol and Rindy and you get paid. Violate that and you don’t. This is strike one.” She opened the door and stepped out. “Get a life, Harge.” Ruby gave him one last irritated look before she slammed the door shut.

 

* * *

 

Therese had been cold all morning. Putting on a sweater hadn’t helped. Even her morning cup of coffee hadn’t taken off the chill. Her car’s heater was finally having some effect, but she was almost to school and dreaded getting back out into the snow flurries that had begun to fall. However, such mundane things like weather and temperature mattered none when she saw Carol getting out of her car behind the atelier. For Therese, the sight of Carol was like a spring day, the sun warming her skin, melting the tiny ice particles that had accumulated around her heart.

She really hadn’t been alone with Carol since that night she had left Carol’s apartment. Therese was surprised by the magnitude of her own excitement at getting to spend just a few moments together. Shutting off her car, she got out and walked toward Carol who was opening the back of her vehicle. The back was filled with bags and boxes, garland and Christmas lights poking out some of the tops.

“Need some help?” Therese called out.

Carol turned with a smile so pure that Therese stopped her progress. Carol was happy to see her. Sometimes she wondered what Carol’s true feelings were, but there was no mistaking the reaction she had just witnessed.

“Hi,” Carol said, just watching Therese walk forward again now that her boots had unglued themselves from the asphalt. Carol’s eyes slid down her and then up again, and Therese realized she was finally warmed through for the first time all day. When she reached the back of Carol’s vehicle, nothing could have surprised her more than when Carol’s hand found the back of her neck and pulled her head close. Carol’s hand was warm, a stark contrast to the tiny snowflakes landing on her face. Therese's senses were inundated as their foreheads gently touched. She closed her eyes and inhaled Carol’s perfume, the faint scent of evergreen on her hands, and the sweet smell of vanilla and coffee on her lips. Carol’s other hand tenderly caressed her cheek.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, you know,” Carol whispered. “I’m sorry I’ve been so incredibly busy and stressed. The holidays, classes, Rindy, painting … I’ve been swamped, but you’ve been on my mind the entire time.”

Therese swallowed loudly and kept her eyes closed for fear the hot tears she felt forming would spring forth. Her hands grasped Carol’s forearms as the relief poured through her veins. Therese just nodded ever so slightly against Carol’s forehead, unable to form any words.

“Let’s get through the holidays and maybe you and I can spend a couple of days just the two of us. I think we could stand to talk about things.” Carol gently brushed their noses against each other before slowly pulling away.

Opening her eyes, Therese gave Carol a small smile. “Okay,” she finally agreed, forcing her shaky voice to exit her throat. “What are you painting?” she asked, taking a deep breath and trying to return her body to a state of normalcy.

Carol stood perfectly still and seemed to be searching for the right wording. “I’m not at liberty to say,” she answered cryptically, tilting her head slightly. “At least not right now.” They stood looking at each other a moment, the conversation taking an awkward turn. “Are you sure you want to help?” Carol asked her, gesturing to the back of the car.

“Of course.” Therese stepped forward and held out her hands to take something. She would take anything Carol had to offer.

 

* * *

 

On their third trip carrying the bags of supplies and decorations into the atelier, they found Ruby taking off her coat near the reception desk. She greeted them, but her demeanor was unusual. Carol and Therese deposited the rest of the bags on the floor.

“Is everything okay?” Carol asked.

“I just had a run in with _someone_.” Ruby’s eyes darted over to Therese.

Carol ignored Ruby’s attempt to be discreet. “Harge? Where?” Carol’s questions came out so sharply the hairs on the back of Therese’s neck stood up.

“Just down the street,” Ruby informed her. “Far enough away to safely avoid breaking the restraining order. I warned him.” She folded her scarf over the back of her chair. “I’m going to make a few security enhancements though, just to be safe.” She walked around the desk and gave Carol a hug. “There’s no need for you to worry. You have enough on your mind. Let me take care of this.”

“Thank you,” Carol told her, squeezing her arm affectionately. “Just keep me informed if anything else happens, please.” She turned and swept her hand out toward all the boxes and bags. “I bought a bunch of Christmas decorations for all three floors. I’ll leave some down here for the gallery. Have the students help you though. You don’t have to do it all yourself.”

“I may be older, Carol, but I’m perfectly capable of decking the halls, darling,” Ruby told her. She turned toward Therese. “I have some good news for you, Therese.” Ruby opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a letter. “You are this year’s winner of the Salmagundi Club’s Figure Painting competition. Congratulations, dear.”

Therese accepted the congratulatory letter in bewilderment. “I didn’t apply for this. How could I have won if I hadn’t applied?” She frantically scanned the letter for any kind of information.

Carol cleared her throat uncomfortably. Ruby spoke again. “Well, I applied for you. You see, it’s my way of supporting the students who I think have the potential to win a certain competition. Many of the contests have entry fees and I have the money to spend. Plus, I have access to the paintings and can take quality photographs.”

Therese stood there, conflicted. On one hand, it was kind of Ruby, but on the other hand, they were her paintings and it was her choice. Even though she was slightly off-put, she decided to take the high road. “Well, thank you,” she stammered.

“I’m not sure you’re aware, but the competition is loaded with professional artists, not just students. Neither Abby nor I won.” Carol winked at her.

“There is a gala to announce the winners. It’s at the Salmagundi Club. It is an exquisite venue if you haven’t been there,” Ruby told her. Therese looked down at the letter in her hand. She folded it and put it in her coat pocket.

“Will you help me take some of these decorations upstairs?” Carol changed the subject as she quirked an eyebrow at Therese. They made their way to the amassed pile of supplies they had just carried in. “She’s just trying to help,” Carol whispered. Therese only nodded.

Carol pushed a button to hold the elevator doors in the open position. Therese began picking up items off the floor.

“Just put the oscillating fan and the Keurig cups near the back. Those are for my apartment. So are the paper towels,” Carol instructed. “I’ll sort through all the decorations in the studio.”

Therese asked quietly, “Is everything okay with your ex-husband showing up? Should you report him?”

Carol continued to load the elevator. “The police won’t do anything. Legally, he’s allowed to be there.” She set the two bags down on the floor and took Therese’s face in her hands. “But I don’t want you worrying about this.”

“I worry about you,” Therese confessed. “And Rindy.”

“That’s for me to worry about. Plus, it sounds like Ruby is all over it. You worry about finishing your paintings before the holidays.” Carol withdrew her hands and Therese’s face felt cold and barren.

“Carol?” she asked.

“Yes, Therese?”

Therese’s face quickly warmed again as the blood flow rushed to her cheeks. “The letter says I can bring a date. Will you like to come with me next Saturday night?”

Carol assessed the woman before her. Therese looked like a slight breeze might blow her away as she awaited Carol’s answer.

“I’d love to.” Carol stepped forward and tenderly brushed a thumb along Therese’s cheekbone. “It would be an honor. I’m so proud of you, darling.”

 

* * *

 

With the Christmas and Hanukkah decorations in the hands of happy students who eagerly took to decorating the atelier, Carol entered Abby’s office with a cup of coffee. Abby looked up from her laptop before closing it and pushing it aside.

“Why, if it isn’t Carol Aird. I was starting to forget what you looked like,” she quipped.

“Very funny. I’ve been a bit busy,” Carol admitted, plopping down in an easy chair. “I’m exhausted. I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much, but I’d have to fight my way through Genevieve to get to you anyway,” Carol said, smirking.

“We’re not that bad,” Abby argued. “Okay, kind of bad,” Abby relented. “How are you and Therese?”

A cloud of regret passed over Carol and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “We haven’t really spent much time together lately. I’ve been so busy painting that I just haven’t had the time.”

“What are you painting anyway?” Abby asked. “It’s not like you to paint upstairs. I think the only time I’ve ever seen you do that was when you painted that portrait of the Congresswoman that had to be ‘top secret’ until her great unveiling.” Abby air quoted with mock reverence. “Is this another commission?”

Carol sort of shook her head and nodded vaguely, avoiding eye contact by sipping her coffee. “Something like that.”

“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” Abby inquired, not letting the subject go.  

“I’ll tell you this much. It might be the most important work of my lifetime,” Carol acquiesced. “My defining moment.”

Abby’s mouth hung open. “Wow, Carol. Well, when do I get to take a peek?”

“Soon, Abby, soon.” Carol stood up as she stifled a yawn. “I’m off. I need to take the rest of the decorations upstairs.”

 

* * *

 

Andy’s soft snores filled the room as Therese stared at the ceiling. She was tired, but sleep was evading her. Even though the day had gone fairly well, she still felt an emptiness inside that just wouldn’t subside. Seeing Carol alone, actually talking to her, and even being touched by her had improved her week immensely, but it also left a wanting that couldn’t be ignored. Things were still in limbo and the craziness of the holidays was fast upon them. Therese was excited about the prospect of Carol attending the gala with her, but she still didn’t have a good feel for their situation. Even after the holiday passed, they had unresolved issues they needed to find solutions for. The question that haunted her was, would they be able to? At least she knew Carol was thinking about her. She smiled as she remembered Carol’s words in the parking lot that morning. Just to know that meant everything to her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone vibrating. It was a text from Carol, unusual because they had essentially stopped and also because of the late hour. She scrambled to read it.

 

> **Still up?**
> 
>  
> 
> **Yes**
> 
>  
> 
> **Let me in?**

Therese jumped out of bed, smoothing her hair down with her hands as she quickly made her way to the front door. Opening it, she saw a weary Carol standing there, her jacket covering a t-shirt and sweatpants that were tucked into boots. She looked capable of falling over any minute.

“I’m exhausted and I can’t sleep,” Carol told her apologetically. Therese stepped aside and motioned for her to come in. “I was wondering if I could sleep here.” Carol raised a lazy eyebrow in question. “It doesn’t feel right when you’re not next to me,” she whispered.

Therese locked the door and took Carol by the hand. She led Carol into her bedroom where she silently took off Carol’s coat. Urging her to sit on the side of the bed, Therese bent down and removed each of Carol’s boots. Carol stood up and walked around the bed, stopping briefly to peer down at a sleeping Andy and adjust his blanket. She crawled in the far side of the bed, meeting Therese in the middle where they intertwined like vines on an arbor.

“The bed is warm. Did I wake you?” Carol asked.

“No. I was awake,” Therese said, pulling Carol even closer. “Where is Rindy?”

“She’s with Ruby for a few days so I can paint.” Even in the darkness, Therese could see the fatigue in Carol’s eyes.

“Even Abby asked me what you’re painting,” Therese confided.

Carol let out a deep chuckle.

“Are you doing a commission?” Therese asked, her hand lazily brushing up and down Carol’s back.

“So many questions,” Carol said, kissing her sweetly. “I have one for you: Have you applied for the study abroad in Florence?” Carol asked. “I know you haven’t asked me for a recommendation, but perhaps you asked Abby?”

Therese stiffened. “I'm not planning to apply. I feel like you’re trying to push me away.”

“Never,” Carol stated definitively. “I just don’t want you to miss out on an opportunity that could very well be yours. Look at you. You’re extremely talented. You winning the award today just proves it.”

“I have Andy to think about,” Therese explained. “His home is here. His family is here. I don’t think I could just move him somewhere else for a year.” She paused, deep in thought. “If I don’t apply, is Ruby going to apply for me?” Therese asked.

“If she does, she’s just trying to help you,” Carol told her, her eyes fighting to stay open. “Don’t be upset. Her heart is in the right place. And if you win, promise me you’ll at least consider going? Please?”

Therese watched the beautiful woman in her arms fight sleep. She summoned all her courage for one last question.

“I’ll consider going on one condition: If I win, will you and Rindy come with us?”

Before Carol’s eyes closed completely for the last time that night, she sleepily whispered one word to the woman she held tightly. “Yes.”


	21. Bright Lights

Therese lifted the hair from her neck to allow Dannie to zip her dress. The spaghetti straps set off her alabaster skin and the black cocktail dress fell to just above her knees. Dannie stood back and appraised her.

“You look stunning, Therese.  _ She’s _ going to think you look stunning.”

Embarrassed, Therese scoffed, but she viewed her own reflection in the mirror and was satisfied with the results. “Thanks, Dannie. I kind of just want to get it over with.”

“Get it over with? What’s the rush? You’re winning an award, there’s an open bar, and you’re taking a gorgeous woman as your date. I think you need to reevaluate your situation and just enjoy tonight.” He leaned against the bathroom door. Therese applied some tinted lip color before she met his eyes in the mirror.

“You’re right,” she admitted, capping the lip gloss. “I suppose I just don’t know what to expect.”

Dannie chuckled. “Well, many people will probably tell you how talented you are – and they’re right. You’ll enjoy some free bubbly or wine and see some great art. And you’ll be with  _ her, _ Therese. Let’s not pretend that you don’t want that, because I see the way you look at her.”

Therese blushed and pretended to look for her mascara in her makeup bag. “Fine, Dannie,” she acquiesced, chuckling gently. “I get it. Now leave me alone so I can finish getting ready.” She gave him a playful push, sending him into the hallway.

 

* * *

 

Carol arrived at Therese’s door right on time with a dozen red roses in her arms. Moments after she knocked, Therese opened the door to reveal herself in an ebony cocktail dress. Her straight hair had been pinned up high in a sleek ponytail. Makeup nicely accentuated her fine facial features without looking overdone. Carol expected Therese to look nice, but the transcendent image that greeted her floored Carol. There was something different about the way Therese stood slightly straighter, prouder – aware of her appearance and the effect it might have on Carol. Carol felt her breathing grow shallow and stunted, her heart’s own unique cadence stutter and trip. She watched Therese’s eyes travel over her much like how she had just appraised Therese.

Carol raised her hand slowly, and after a moment's hesitation, her palm barely came into contact with Therese’s cheek. Therese closed her eyes, leaning into it, the heat from her face warming Carol’s hand and sending blood racing through her veins.

Carol looked at Therese and saw her in a new light. The student that had stood with the others months before when Carol had stepped off the elevator was gone. In her place stood a confident, self-assured woman. For the first time, Carol saw her as something entirely  _ other _ than a student. She saw Therese as a gorgeous woman, a supremely talented artist, and someone who could stand before her with a look in her eyes that nearly brought Carol to her knees. It was all Carol could do to offer Therese the flowers instead of leading her to the bedroom.

Therese numbly accepted the roses with a breathy thanks and clutched them to her chest. She noticed that beneath Carol’s long coat, Carol wore a crimson colored dress that fell slightly off her shoulders and ended mid-calf. A long slit exposed one leg to a few inches above her knee. Her hair was pulled up in a stylish twist, a sleek sweep of hair accentuating one side of her face.

Therese stood there so long in her awestruck state that Carol gently reminded her to put the flowers in water. When Therese remained stationary, Carol just smiled and took the flowers back from Therese with a light kiss on her cheek. She made her way toward the apartment’s small kitchen. In a haze, Therese gathered her purse and coat as sounds of clinking glassware and running water came from the next room. She concentrated on breathing.  _ In and out, _ she told herself, slightly concerned that something was wrong with her autonomic nervous system.  _ You’ve done this before. _

“Where would you like it?” Therese faintly heard Carol ask. Therese stared down at the house keys in her hand as her mind ran wild.

_ On the bed, over the end of the couch, on the floor, up against a wall… _

“Therese?” This time Carol’s voice snapped Therese’s mind back to reality. She looked up to see Carol pointing to the vase, now beautifully arranged with flowers.

“The table would be nice. Don't you think?” Therese asked, blushing.

 

* * *

 

“Fifth Avenue and 12th Street,” Carol instructed the taxi driver as she slid in next to Therese. Multi-colored Christmas lights twinkled in a nearby second floor window. A light covering of snow dusted the streets, but nothing that their heels couldn’t handle. Neither woman was about to wear boots tonight with their evening wear.

Bundled in the back of the cab, Therese was glad that Carol’s coat was now buttoned, the length of leg exposed by the dress’ design hidden from her view. The driver had the heat on, and Therese was certain if anything else elevated her body’s temperature, she might melt right on the spot. She fidgeted, unwrapping her scarf from around her neck and undoing the top two buttons on her coat.

“Is everything all okay?” Carol asked, laying a hand on Therese’s thigh. Therese looked down at her hand and then back up into Carol's eyes, which were even more alluring than usual with her smoky makeup. She squeezed Carol’s hand and then picked it up and placed it back on Carol’s own leg, gently patting it before pulling her own hand away.

“That’s probably for the best,” Therese mumbled. “Is it hot in here?” she asked rhetorically, fanning her face.

Carol let out a low, dulcet laugh. “Is that how it’s going to be tonight?” When Therese didn’t respond, Carol’s tone changed as she noticed Therese becoming increasingly frazzled. She asked a more serious question. “Are you nervous, darling?” Carol watched Therese’s rapid breathing.

“I won an award I didn’t even apply for, I won't know anyone there, and I have no idea what to expect! Why would I be nervous?” Therese blurted out, her anxiety releasing like an untied balloon.

Carol put her finger on Therese’s chin and turned her to face her. “I’m here with you,” she said gently. “You know  _ me _ . No one else matters.” Carol withdrew her hand but never broke eye contact. “I’ll introduce you to people I know. You’ll be fine. Plus, I’m sure you’ll knock them dead with your acceptance speech,” Carol said resolutely.

“I have to give a speech?” Therese spluttered loudly, causing the driver to jump and glare at her in her rearview mirror.

This time, Carol’s laughter filled the vehicle. “No, darling, you don’t have to give a speech.” She smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling. “Now, don’t you feel a sense of relief?”

“I hate you, Carol Aird,” Therese growled, unable to hide her smile forcing its way forward.

“No. No, you don’t,” Carol whispered right into her ear before kissing her on her cheek.

As she sat back against the seat and focused on the city lights outside the taxi’s window, Therese begrudgingly admitted that she did indeed feel relieved.

 

* * *

 

The stately Fifth Avenue building that housed the Salmagundi Club glowed in the winter evening. All four floors were brightly lit, holiday decorations adorning every door, bannister, and mantle. With their coats checked and flutes of champagne in hand, Therese and Carol wandered through the galleries, eager to discover where Therese’s painting hung. The air resonated with laughter and the clicking of women’s high heeled shoes on the honey-colored parquet floors. A tuxedoed musician coaxed sweet-sounding classical music from a grand piano in the corner of the largest gallery.

“Carol!” An elderly gentleman rushed forward, clasping Carol’s free hand between both of his. His dark tuxedo accentuated his silvery hair. “It’s so good to see you. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of seeing your beautiful face since - ”

“ - the  Vigée Le Brun exhibition at the Met,” Carol said, finishing his sentence and flashing him a smile before she kissed him on the cheek. “Nice to see you again, Alfred. May I introduce Therese Belivet?” She turned and gently touched Therese’s elbow. “Therese is one of the award recipients tonight. Therese, this is Alfred Harrington. Alfred is involved in painting conservation and restoration.”

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Belivet. May I assume you are a student of Carol’s?” Alfred asked her after kissing her hand in a manner that pointed not only to his age, but his upbringing.

“Yes,” Therese explained, “I’m fortunate to attend Atelier Aird.”

“She’s the most promising student I’ve ever had,” Carol suddenly said proudly, looking at Therese in a way that made Therese squirm.

“That, my dear, is quite the compliment coming from your instructor,” Alfred told Therese with a nod of his head toward Carol. “She knows fine art when she sees it. I don’t think I can recall a teacher ever accompanying a student to one of these things, and I’ve been coming for more years that I want to admit. She must be quite proud of you.”

Therese smiled uncomfortably, both because of the praise and because she was forever reminded of her status as just another one of Carol’s students. She wondered if that would ever change. Carol looked away and took a sip of her champagne. After a few more pleasantries and more congratulations, Alfred left them with an apology and disappeared when he spotted another old acquaintance. Once he was out of earshot, Therese took a deep breath, but spoke in a flattened tone.

“When I asked you to come with me tonight, I wasn’t inviting my instructor to accompany me,” Therese said sullenly.

Carol stiffened and took a moment to respond. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry about that,” Carol said quietly, briefly touching Therese's elbow, aware of the scowl on Therese’s face and the sad slouch of her shoulders. Carol looked down at her shoes and slowly shook her head back and forth.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Therese said morosely, wandering toward a wall of portraits.  

Carol’s head shot up and she caught Therese’s hand. She turned Therese back toward her. “No, this was not a bad idea. This was exactly what we needed.” To Therese’s surprise, Carol didn’t let go of her hand, even as a dark-haired woman in a stylish gray suit approached them.

“Carol Aird.” She greeted Carol with smile and a kiss to both cheeks. Both Therese and Carol noticed the woman’s eyes darted ever-so-imperceptibly to their entwined hands though she never broke her facade.

“Louise. I’ve missed you! When did you get back?” Carol asked her, genuinely happy to see her.

“I’m only back for the holidays and then I head back to Florence.” Louise turned slightly toward Therese, and Carol used the opening to introduce them.

“Therese, this is Louise D’Angelo. We studied together in Florence and Louise loved it so much she never left. She also teaches painting.” Carol broke eye contact with her old acquaintance and looked at the brunette whose hand she held gingerly. “Louise, this is my girlfriend, Therese Belivet.” As she said it, Carol squeezed Therese’s hand, hoping the sudden announcement would go over smoothly.

Carol caught the surprise in a slight flinch of Therese’s eyes, but Therese managed to maintain her composure even if she couldn’t control the rosy flush of her cheeks. She swallowed before speaking, but Carol felt Therese’s fingers tightly grasp her own. “It’s so nice to meet you, Louise. You’re lucky to live in Florence.”

Louise’s subsequent anecdotes about Florentine life and people she and Carol knew in common were essentially lost on the two women holding hands. The hum of conversation blurred into background noise, each consumed by the thought of the other and the unexpected revelation Carol had just uttered. The lights shone brighter, the music sweeter.

When Louise left them in search of another glass of wine, Therese pulled Carol aside and leaned in close to the older woman.

“I’m your girlfriend?” she asked in a hushed voice, spots of crimson still splashing the apples of her cheeks.

Carol regarded Therese, the innocence of her question squeezing Carol’s heart too tightly. “Aren’t you?” Carol responded, tilting her head slightly to the side, all seriousness and none of the playful banter that sometimes existed between them.

“We … we’ve never talked about it,” Therese stammered, slightly shaking her head.

“Will you be?” Carol asked so softly, as if her words might soothe and console the woman before her, the woman whose hand she held, the woman who owned her heart.

“Yes. Yes.” Therese’s answer arrived on a generous exhale, her exhilaration palpable. Her eyebrows lifted, her green eyes glowed, and her dimples jumped into play.

“If we weren’t here, I’d kiss you silly,” Carol whispered, a twinkle in her eye. Therese beamed. Carol assessed Therese lovingly for a long moment. “What do you say we go meet more people before you receive your award, darling?”

As they passed a fragile 19th century pastoral scene framed behind protective glass, Carol caught a glimpse of their reflections. Sure, together they made a beautiful couple, no one could deny that. However, this was not what caught Carol's attention. When she saw the reflection of the pair of them hand in hand, she saw something she had never seen before: she saw them as equals.

 

* * *

 

Therese nearly waltzed into Atelier Aird on Monday morning. Her date with Carol had gone better than she could have ever hoped. When Carol had shocked her by introducing her as her girlfriend, Therese had somehow managed to remain upright and speak despite the sudden onset of dizziness and ringing in her ears.

She had received her award and all the attention that went along with it. People had complimented and shook her hand all night, and Carol had continued to introduce her as her girlfriend. By the end of the night, and with the confidence the champagne had provided, Therese had even returned the favor. Just saying the word had made her a little giddy. The only disappointing part of the evening was in the cab ride home when, buoyed by her happy state, she had tentatively asked to stay the night at Carol’s, but Carol had instead suggested they call it a night. Still, even the rebuff couldn’t dampen her spirits.

As Therese made her way to her easel, she noticed Carol standing in front of it. Carol examined her painting of a standing female nude facing three-quarters away, her body in contrapposto. One hand held onto a tall rod and drapery gathered around her feet. Carol stood with one arm folded across her abdomen, her other hand absentmindedly tapping her lower lip. Deep in thought, it took a moment for her to register that Therese was standing next to her.

Therese slipped an arm around her waist and Carol lifted her own arm to rest it across Therese’s shoulders. She pulled Therese in closer to her.

“It’s really wonderful, you know,” Carol told her. “The way the lines of her hips and shoulders lead your eye through the painting and the way the curvature of the drapery brings your eye back around. The softness of your edges over here and the lost edges in this passage - it’s simply stunning.” She turned and looked directly at Therese with a seriousness Therese wasn’t expecting. “Sometimes I worry there’s nothing more I can teach you.”

“Don’t say that,” Therese murmured, resting her head on Carol’s shoulder. “Of course there is.”

“Do you think you’ll have it finished for the holiday party?” Carol asked, changing the subject.

“Absolutely,” Therese confirmed. “I need one day, maybe two, and then I’ll ask Ruby to help me get it framed.”

“Perfect,” Carol stated. “Because if this is on display that night, you’re never going to see this painting again.” And with that bold prediction, she kissed Therese on the temple and walked away.


	22. Win or Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I wrote this on Christmas, there's no way I'm asking Ligeria to beta on a holiday. Forgive any errors - they're all mine. :)

“I think it should be you,” Abby told Carol over breakfast muffins and cappuccinos. She swallowed her bite before continuing, talking as the paper wrapper accordioned off the rest of the muffin with a tug of her thumb and forefinger. “Despite all the emotions involved, you're the head of the school. It needs to come from you.”

Carol sprinkled raw sugar over her cappuccino. The brown crystals remained suspended flecks in the foam until she decidedly twirled her spoon through the coffee. Finally, she nodded. “I suppose you're right.”

Abby placed her muffin back on its paper and reached across her desk. She lifted Carol’s hand that held the spoon.

“You have paint on your hands and you’re not usually a messy painter. Was this from a mishap or are you trying out a new painting style?” she asked as Carol quickly withdrew her hand.

“I just forgot to wash my hands,” Carol lamely offered, blushing. She knew Abby immediately saw through her.

The expression on Abby’s face flipped like a lightswitch. “The painting - it’s for her, isn’t it?” Abby asked with a gleam in her eye.

Carol tried to quell her giddiness, but her lips involuntarily smiled, giving her away. “Yes,” she simply stated, her eyes back on her cappuccino.

“Do you still consider it your _chef d'oeuvre_?” Abby asked, saying the French with flair.

Carol stared at her pointedly. “Abby, my dear, this is not only the most difficult thing I have ever painted, but the most important piece I have even laid brush to. I am prouder of this work than anything I’ve done before and will probably paint after.”

Abby raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Does she know about it?” her best friend asked.

“No, but she’s certainly been curious,” Carol said smirking. She lifted the coffee to her lips.

Abby smiled at her, the knowing smile of a best friend, someone who has shared decades of experiences: happiness, grief, melancholy, heartache, euphoria, and love - and knows how to recognize those emotions in her soul’s sister.

“When are you giving it to her?” Abby finally asked.

“Christmas Eve,” Carol whispered.

 

* * *

 

Jeanette arranged the kitchen chairs in between the sofas in the atelier’s library. Jack brought two more folding chairs over to her and unfolded them.

“Do we have enough seats for everyone?” he asked her, too lazy to count himself. Jeanette moved an armchair aside with her hip and squeezed the folding chairs in the vacant space.

“Now we do - assuming Carol stands or leans as she always does when she addresses us,” Jeanette replied, dusting her hands off on her jeans. She glanced at the crude circle, satisfied. Carol and Abby were still meeting in Carol’s office where they had been in a discussion behind the closed door for almost an hour.

The rest of the students, including Therese, were wrapping up last minute efforts. Today was the last official day of classes, and even though no one was actively painting, preparations were being made for the holiday party that was to be held later that evening in the gallery spaces downstairs. Half of the students were busy at the large workbench that had been turned into a framing table. Canvases, frames, rags, stain, wire, D rings, and pliers were all being used to make sure the finishing touches on the last few paintings were done on time so that the gallery was ready for the doors to be opened at 7:00 pm.

Surprise had reverberated through the class when Carol had called an unexpected meeting to be held just before lunch. Without explanation, she had retreated into conference with Abby. The students had been wildly speculating that the meeting might have something to do with the results of the opportunity to study abroad in Florence supposedly being announced.

As her classmates wondered aloud regarding the outcome, she kept hearing her name mentioned and it was irritating her. She threaded picture hanging wire through a D ring and twisted it round and around upon itself without looking up. Therese didn’t even know for sure if Ruby had entered her into the competition, although her gut told her the answer was probably in the affirmative. She felt her face flush in annoyance.

Jack was betting against the odds that the winner would be chosen from their atelier. He thought the probability just wasn’t there, even despite all of Carol’s connections in the Italian city. However, Therese noticed both Genevieve and Tommy slip bills to Richard, so she was fairly certain the betting had progressed to more than just a verbal joust.

Truth be told, she didn’t even want to go to Florence for a year. She wondered what she was she supposed to do if she actually won the opportunity. Did anyone ever turn these things down? She knew that would appear unprofessional and ungrateful, even though she hadn’t personally thrown her hat in the ring. And even though Carol had verbally agreed to go with her if she won, when it came down to it, was Carol really going to leave her atelier and life in New York for an entire year? However, the one scenario that really made Therese sick to her stomach was possibly having to tell Dannie and his mother that she was taking Andy away for a year.

To compound her irritation, she hadn’t _been_ with Carol in seemingly forever. They had seen each other, but Therese hadn’t be able to hold Carol in her arms, touch her skin, kiss her body, and make her cry out in such a way that made angels weep - and she missed it. She fucking _missed_ it.

Carol had kissed her goodnight after the gala, and it had been a lovely kiss, stirring the butterflies within her that had not gone dormant despite the winter’s chill. However, Therese was not satisfied with just a kiss, but her efforts at taking the night any further had resulted in naught when Carol had suggested they call it a night. She had been so surprised by Carol’s response, Therese hadn’t even thought to ask why. She had assumed Carol was feeling the same painful ache she was living with every day, an ache whose magnitude had grown exponentially after the kiss Carol had unleashed on her once they had gotten outside the Salmagundi Club.

Therese swore as she accidentally pricked her thumb on the end of the sharp wire. An alizarin bead immediately swelled on the pad of her thumb. Watching the small drop grow larger, she missed Carol open the door to her office.

“Everyone, if you would, please join Abby and I over here. We have some news.”

 

* * *

 

Once settled in their haphazard circle, Carol leaned on one end of a sofa and addressed her atelier. Therese watched her. Her brain swam with information. She thought of Dannie, relaxed and lanky, lounging in an armchair, the jawline he shared with his son obvious from Therese’s vantage point. They had an interesting relationship, but she knew that he loved Andy without a doubt. She considered Aileen, the woman so generous with her heart that she had opened it not only to Andy, but to Therese herself.

Therese simultaneously took information in. Carol tipped her head to one side, throwing her hair back over her shoulder with a determined flip. Neck now exposed, Therese remembered what the thin skin there tasted like, just beneath Carol’s ear. She wanted to press her face there and breathe in, inhale the lovely mixture of scents that made up the woman she loved. _Loved._ The sudden appearance of the word in her mind’s thoughts jolted yet calmed her. She did love Carol. That’s what this was. And she wanted to be with her, but Carol still had walls Therese had been unable to crack. However, Therese wasn’t about to relent in her persistence to penetrate those walls. This was what she wanted and she was willing to put in the time - no matter how much time - in order to get what she wanted. _It’s worth it,_ she told herself. It was worth so much more to her than fame or Florence - if she even happened to win - and Carol really couldn’t or wouldn’t go with her for whatever reason. _Fuck Florence_ , she decided. She readied herself for the Carol’s reveal and summoned the courage to do what she had to do.

Carol had been talking to the group about the holidays and spending time with loved ones as they wrapped up the school calendar year. Therese had heard bits and pieces. Carol had pulled a thin stack of envelopes from her back pocket and began handing out checks to each student for their percentage of gallery sales. She mentioned how it would come in handy if they had any last minute shopping.

Therese had done well in December; three out of four of her paintings on display had sold along with two of her preliminary sketches that she had framed. She was quickly becoming a favorite among a small group of avid collectors. Therese took her check from Carol, their eyes meeting briefly. She wanted to reach out, wrap her arms around Carol and pull her into her lap. She wanted to feel Carol’s weight, her warmth. She wanted to feel much more than that, so in an attempt to distract herself from the direction her body was quickly running, she fidgeted in her seat, and compulsively flicked the edge of her envelope with her fingernail instead. Nevertheless, nothing was going to distract from this unrelenting want she had been experiencing day and night.

“As you might remember,” Carol stated, “the winner of the study abroad was supposed to be announced today.” Murmurs confirmed that this was not news to anyone. Carol settled into her favorite position, her jeans pulled tighter from the angle she sat, her toned legs evident to Therese through the blue denim. Therese squirmed.

“They normally notify the recipient personally before they post the results online. However, since the chair of the committee is a very close friend of mine, _and_ I am so proud to say the winner is a student of our atelier, he graciously offered to let me announce the wonderful news.”

Quiet exclamations broke forth and Therese saw heads turn her way though she purposely kept her eyes forward, her face stoic.

Carol looked around the group. “I make this announcement with a bit of sadness. While I am so thrilled that this stunning artist is getting deserved recognition and the opportunity that affords, I can’t begin to explain how much you will be missed next year, especially by me.”

Therese fought back tears. Carol beamed.

“Phil McElroy, you are studying in Florence for a year.”

A stunned Phil McElroy received a bear hug from his brother. A relieved Therese Belivet clapped loudly and wolf whistled for her friend. She caught Carol’s eye. An understanding Carol Aird smiled and winked at her.

 

* * *

 

“We’re only two hours into the party and we’ve already sold five paintings!” Ruby excitedly told Carol. Carol looked at the packed house and had to agree the atelier’s holiday party was more vibrant than any other year she could remember. Phil’s huge accomplishment had certainly started the champagne flowing among the students and had been the talk of the night. Two of the paintings sold had been his.

Carol was proud of all of her students. Everyone donned their best attire and mixed and mingled with collectors and other art professionals. She hadn’t seen much of Therese all night: between the many attendees, the string quartet, and the caterers, the space was crowded and she had only caught glimpses of the young woman. With Carol’s primary duty to encourage the guests to make purchases, there hadn’t been much time to seek out Therese. A few times, she had caught a glimpse of Therese deep in conversation with someone in front of one of her paintings. Therese was wearing the same dress she had worn to the Salmagundi event, but she had added a red scarf around her shoulders tonight. If anything, Carol thought it made her look more elegant.

Halfway through the night, Therese passed behind Carol and placed a lingering hand on the small of Carol’s back as she did so, and Carol decided she wanted the party over then and there. She turned to catch Therese, but Therese had already been pulled into a conversation with Ruby and a gentleman that Carol recognized as already owning two of her own paintings. Unwilling to risk Therese losing a sale, Carol regretfully turned away. She turned to look for her other favorite girl. Wandering into the third gallery, she found Rindy and Andy. Despite being in her red dress and white tights, Rindy was sitting on the floor quietly turning the pages of a children’s Christmas book. Andy’s head rested on her shoulder, looking at the illustrations as Rindy made up a story for him.

Carol smiled and waited until Rindy turned the page. “Rindy,” she whispered, “are you two doing okay?”

“We’re fine, Mom.” Rindy looked up at Carol, still holding the book but letting it start to fall closed. Andy reached forward to open it again to the page he had been looking at. “We’re reading a book.”

Carol brushed a curl from her daughter’s eyes. “You two are being so good. Just a bit longer and then we can go home, sweetheart.” Carol smiled at the two of them and stood up. She left them to their book and returned to the outer galleries.

However, when Carol entered the second gallery, she miraculously found Therese alone at the bar, watching the bartender pour her a glass of champagne. Carol went straight to her, this time putting her hand on Therese’s back and leaning in close to her ear.

“Meet me in the stairwell.” Carol caught the surprise on Therese’s face just before she turned and strode away. Therese watched Carol calmly open the door to the stairs, step inside, and let it close behind her. Suddenly overheated, Therese raised the flute of champagne to her lips, tipped it back, and downed it. Setting it on the bar, she glanced around her. Everyone seemed oblivious to what had just transpired, including the bartender, so Therese nonchalantly approached the door that kept her from Carol.

When Therese stepped inside, she thought back to how Carol had been waiting on the next landing for her when she had invited Therese to their rooftop picnic. But Carol was not that far away this time. Therese had no sooner stepped into the stairwell, when Carol pushed the door closed. Carol’s eyes were serious, determined. She pressed Therese right up against the door, preventing anyone from pushing it open. Therese felt the cold metal against her bare shoulders and Carol’s warm hands and mouth suddenly consuming her. Carol’s hand firmly held the back of Therese’s neck and she kissed her forcefully. Therese’s heart rate accelerated, her body finally getting what it so badly had been needing. She had waited so long at a red light. Now the light had finally turned green and it took Therese zero time to join the race. She grabbed Carol’s hips and pulled Carol into her, their fronts colliding. Carol’s other hand was already making its way into the top of Therese’s dress. She cupped soft flesh, a pointed peak, and squeezed hard, swallowing Therese’s muffled surprise and her own erratic breaths in the gnashing of lips and teeth. Tongues wildy probed, needing more. Therese felt giddy, intoxicated, wondering if it was the alcohol entering her system, or just the effects of Carol Aird.

Their kiss was feral, untamed, breaking boundaries and extending to chin, jawbone, ear, and neck. Mouths tasted and slid, teeth grazed soft flesh, tongues licked and probed. Carol let go of the nape of Therese’s neck and hurriedly tugged the hem of Therese’s dress up one hip. Carol’s hand reached between her legs, deftly pushing fabric aside in a move so expert that it astounded Therese. The feeling of Carol’s fingers suddenly inside her caused her to cry out in unexpected pleasure. Therese had known her body was quickly responding, but she wasn’t prepared to be so wet and ready that Carol could just enter her like she just had.

Those thoughts faded as Carol’s fingers brought her hard and fast to a place she found herself surprised to be. Carol lifted Therese’s breast from her dress and took the swollen nipple in her mouth. Therese moaned loudly as her insides tightened, molding themselves to Carol’s digits, feeling the loss every time Carol pulled back, and the welcome fullness of every returning thrust. Therese closed her eyes. Tears formed and leaked, making their way down the sides of her face. She didn’t know why she was crying. She didn’t know what she was feeling. She didn’t know what was happening or would happen. All she knew was that Carol was inside her and this was what she wanted. Therese grasped Carol tightly, both for stability and because she never wanted to let her go. This was what she had desired for so long, what she had dreamed of every night, and she had it. She knew she had it this very moment in time, and she knew it was going to be short-lived: she felt it. Therese felt the first spasm and she let her head fall forward. She wanted to call Carol’s name, to beg, to plead. Therese struggled to find her voice, but it was too much for one brain to comprehend, so the only sounds in the stairwell were the sharp gasps as she tried to breathe through the exquisite pleasure rapidly building inside her. It didn’t matter: Carol knew.

It was then that Carol dropped to her knees. With the fingers of one hand holding Therese’s panties aside, Carol took Therese’s throbbing point of pleasure into her mouth. Featherlight flutterings were transmitted with percussive intensity. With just a few more curled thrusts of Carol’s fingers, Therese tensed and sobbed. She cried out, her voice filling the stairwell’s echoing height. Carol let her ride it out, kissing up her stomach and chest. With just a few more slow pulls that left Therese twitching each time, Carol gently removed her fingers and Therese fell limply against Carol’s frame.

Carol quietly inserted one finger and then the other into her own mouth, sucking gently to remove most of the trace of Therese. She did this without ever breaking eye contact. She then leaned down and her mouth removed the evidence of the tears on Therese’s cheeks, and her tongue licked where the salty drops had gathered at the indentation at the base of Therese’s neck. She then put Therese’s dress back into place while the young woman leaned limply against the wall.

Carol caressed Therese’s cheek with one hand and kissed her gently on the lips. “You are delightful,” Carol said quietly, smiling at her fondly. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.” She kissed Therese one more time and stepped back reluctantly “I’ll go first. Wait a few minutes and then come back out,” she instructed with a sly smile. Therese nodded, unable to respond any further. Carol smoothed down her own dress and took a deep breath. She motioned for Therese to step aside and Carol exited the stairwell.

 

* * *

 

It was another 40 minutes before the last guests had left and the musicians had packed away their instruments. Finally free from any more conversations with potential clients, Carol looked around, but she didn’t see Therese anywhere. As she started toward the second gallery, Ruby approached her with an armful of paperwork.

“Carol, here are the receipts for tonight.” She handed Carol a stack of loose papers. “And this is the money.” Ruby whispered the last word. “There is just under $40,000 in cash and checks in that envelope. You should put it in your safe until you can make a deposit. I’m not comfortable leaving that much money in my desk tonight,” Ruby confided in hushed tones.

“Of course, Ruby. Thank you,” Carol told her, impressed by proceeds from the evening. “I’ll put it in the safe right now.”

Carol had no sooner taken the elevator upstairs when a disheveled man entered the atelier through the open front door the departing musicians had neglected to close.

Harge Aird stopped. He scanned the gallery for his ex-wife.

 


	23. Code Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't do it in one chapter folks, but the good news is the next one is already being written. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have commented all along and to those of you still arriving and leaving kudos. They make me smile when I see them pop up in my inbox every day. I don't know where you all come from, but I'm grateful.

The last of the champagne had been poured to toast a successful semester, spending time with friends and family during the holiday season, and all the empty spots on the wall from paintings that had sold throughout the night. As everyone pitched in to help clean up the aftermath of the holiday party, a bit of chaos ensued as tables and chairs were moved back upstairs, decorations taken down, and trash and recycling gathered and disposed of. So it was no surprise that hardly anyone noticed Carol’s ex husband stumble through the open front door.

Harge looked around, trying to spot his ex wife. He blinked, the buzz he had going a good one. He reached his hand out to steady himself on the back of a nearby folding chair. People were taking down lights and garland, folding tablecloths, and dropping used glassware into a drink rack. No one seemed to notice the intruder except for one woman standing in the doorway of the second gallery.

Therese had checked her phone for a text from Aileen to make sure she had gotten home safely. Happy to see she had, Therese looked up towards the front door. She stopped and stared. She instantly recognized the man’s face from the photos Ruby had texted all the students. Calmly, Therese broke eye contact with man, opened an app on her home screen, and pressed a button that generated a simple text: “Code Red.”

Tucking her phone into her bra, she tried valiantly to hide any terror she felt. Harge was looking around, but clinging to the folding chair like it might be keeping him upright. Therese quickly walked backward into the third gallery and scooped Andy into one arm and pulled Rindy up with her free hand. Both children protested, the Christmas book they had been reading falling to the floor, but Therese quieted them. The open elevator was halfway between Harge and her, and if she moved quickly while he was gathering himself and looking around, she had a chance of making it. Nearly pulling Rindy’s arm from its little socket, Therese made for the open elevator. Harge noticed her and the children heading for the open doors when they were about halfway there. The remaining people in the room noticed the texts on their phones at the same time, and exclamations and orders immediately rang through the air.

“Hey!” Harge yelled, stumbling toward Therese and the children. Therese deposited the children on the elevator’s floor and whispered something quietly to them as she punched a code and stepped outside, putting her body between the closing doors and the angry man coming towards her. “Get out of the way!” he snarled at her.

“No.” Green eyes blazing, Therese defiantly stepped in front of him, blocking him from the elevator. One of his large hands wrapped around her throat, the other reaching for the closing doors. They closed just beyond his reach. Initially, Therese planted both her palms on his chest to fend him off, but when she felt her airway constrict, her hands flew to her throat, pulling and clawing at his hand.

“Open the elevator!” he ordered her, punching angrily at the call button. Therese vehemently shook her head, no air able to reach her vocal cords, the color in her face fading. Her fingers tried in vain to loosen his grasp on her throat.

Everything moved in slow motion. Over his shoulder, Therese could see Ruby on her phone talking animatedly with a terrified look in her eyes. Jeanette appeared to be frozen to the spot. Tommy ran towards them, trying to pull Harge away from her, but only succeeding in pulling Therese along, too. When Tommy changed tactics and tried prying Harge’s hand from Therese’s neck, Harge swung his right arm across his body, his beefy fist connecting first with Tommy’s glasses, and then with his face. The plastic frames shattered, cutting a long gash from the corner of his eye down towards his nostril. He landed on his back a few feet away, stunned and bleeding, crimson liquid flowing rapidly like it does from a head wound.

Therese’s eyes began to tunnel, bright flecks of light shooting across her field of vision. She thought of Carol. Harge had similar thoughts. “Where is she?” Harge hissed at her, the heat of his breath and his spittle hitting her in the face. “Is she upstairs?” He shook his arm for emphasis and the fist around her neck caused her brain to jar in its bony cage.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile on the third floor, Carol leafed through the night’s invoices and Phil and Genevieve returned stools that had been used at the party to her kitchen counter. Gen stopped and pulled out her phone. “Code Red. He's here,” she said to Phil. “You got her?” Genevieve asked as she dashed for the stairs.

“I got her,” Phil answered, moving closer to Carol.

“What’s going on?” Carol demanded, frantically trying to follow Genevieve. Phil held out his arms.

“It’s okay, Carol. It’s being taken care of,” he said, not allowing her to move past him.

“Let me by,” Carol demanded.

“I can’t do that, Carol. I have orders,” Phil told her. Carol attempted to dart by him, but Phil was too fast, wrapping her in a bear hug from behind.

“Let me go!” she yelled and kicked, her arms pinned to her side. “I need to get down there! Everyone I care about is down there! Therese!” Carol screamed.

The elevator dinged is arrival and the double doors opened to produce two wide eyed children. Rindy led Andy out by the hand despite the shock at seeing her mother restrained. Phil loosed his hold on Carol to let her embrace her daughter even though he discreetly stepped in between them and the elevator doors. Carol fell to her knees and pulled both children to her chest.

She looked up at Phil, tears streaking her cheeks. “I need to get down there, Phil. Therese is down there. Please stay with the kids.”

Phil shook his head resolutely. “I can’t do that, Carol. If you really want to see what’s happening downstairs, use your cameras, but I can’t let you out of this apartment. I’m sorry.”

Carol released Rindy and Andy and darted to the hallway computer. Phil ushered the confused kids onto the couch where he turned on the tv to a Christmas movie. He then stood where he could see all of them, his back to the elevator.

 

* * *

 

Abby, Richard, and Jack carried a banquet table and folding chairs into the second floor atelier and went about returning everything back to where they were normally stored. Richard and Abby felt the texts arrive at the same time, but Richard pulled out his phone faster. “Code Red,” he told them, his eyes in disbelief.

“Go!” Abby shouted at them. “I’m headed upstairs!”

 

* * *

 

 

Abby ran up the stairs and punched her code to gain entry into Carol’s apartment. She came face to face with Phil.

“Where is she?” Abby asked, frantically looking around.

“On the cameras.” Phil pointed down the hallway. “It was the only way I could keep her up here,” he said apologetically.

Abby rushed past the children to where Carol was bent over staring at the monitor. She leaned in to look at the screen, putting a comforting hand on Carol’s shoulder. Carol reached up with her free hand and grasped it.

“Oh my God - he’s choking her, Abby!” Carol sobbed.

Abby jerked Carol by the hand toward the elevator. “I don’t care what Ruby said, Phil. We have to do something.”

 

* * *

 

Dannie ran through the front door from where he had been depositing the recycling in the alley when he received the text. He took note of Tommy lying in a growing pool of blood on the floor and Therese, now completely ashen, dangling limply from the end of a drunken man’s arm.

“Let her go, asshole!” Dannie balled his fist and landed a punch right into Harge’s left kidney. Harge only stumbled a bit, the alcohol in his system softening the blow, but did not release his hold on Therese. Harge faced Dannie.

“Is that all you got, Brooklyn? I’ll drop you as fast as I knocked that little pansy on his ass,” Harge snarled, jerking his head toward Tommy.

Behind him, the stairwell door flew open and Richard, Gen, and Jack rushed out, the noise of the metal armbar causing Harge to turn his head. Therese used the last bit of energy and consciousness she could muster to raise her knee, hard, right between his legs. Harge grunted and bent forward, but raised up with a vengeance, the look in his eyes that of a man with nothing to lose.  

“That _little pansy_ is my boyfriend,” Dannie retorted before he caught Harge with an uppercut so massive in force that it fractured Harge’s nose and the bones around his right eye. Therese felt the hand that had been clenched around her throat release, and Harge hit the floor, unconscious.

 

* * *

 

When the longest elevator ride of her lifetime ended, Carol squeezed out between the opening doors to find a disoriented Therese sitting on the floor a few feet away breathing heavily, her fingertips gingerly touching her neck. Dannie kneeled beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Carol crouched in front of Therese, tears still streaming down her face. She took Therese’s face in her hands.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” Carol uttered over and over again. She kneeled between Therese’s outstretched legs and kissed every part of the young woman’s face that was not still held tenderly within Carol’s own hands. Dannie had stood back up. Therese still had yet to utter a word. The rest of the people in the room had gathered around in a close circle, concern on all their faces. The only two exceptions were Richard and Genevieve. Together they rolled Harge onto his stomach and Gen straddled him, twisting one of his arms behind his back to keep him subdued when he resumed consciousness.

“Therese, if something happened to you …” Carol struggled to finish her sentence although the tears falling freely said everything her voice could not. The circle of people that surrounded them in their daily life, serving not only as instructors or coworkers, but as friends and family, looked on. A strong feeling prevailed of watching an extremely personal moment, but yet not a single person looked away.

“I need you. The thought of doing this without you …” Carol sobbed, pressing her forehead to Therese’s.

The color was beginning to return to Therese’s face. Lips that had faded to an unnatural purple-blue hue now showed shades of pink. Eyes that had been glassy focused in on Carol, an attentive audience of one hearing the most important speech of her life. Therese raised her hands and covered Carol’s. Carol, too, sensed a change in the moment, seeing the spark return to her lover’s eyes. Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed Therese, Therese’s eyes fluttering closed at the contact. When Carol pulled away again, their gazes met once more.

“I love you, Therese Belivet,” Carol quietly told the woman before her. Therese smiled and pulled Carol into another kiss not quite so chaste as the last.

“I love you, too, Carol,” Therese croaked when the kiss ended, her voice reminding them all of the trauma that had just taken place.

The simple statement caused a smile to finally grace Carol’s worried face. The circle of people around them mirrored her reaction. Abby reached out, taking Gen’s hand from where she still sat upon Harge. Tommy leaned back into Dannie who squeezed his shoulder.

“The kids …” Therese forced the words from her throat.

“The children are fine, sweetheart. Phil is with them,” Carol assured her.

“Therese was the one who grabbed the kids and put them in the elevator,” Ruby told Carol, laying a hand on her shoulder. Carol leaned forward and kissed Therese tenderly but gratefully. “And then she kept him away from the elevator,” Ruby added.

“Why, baby? You know he couldn’t get upstairs without a code.” Carol looked bewildered.

“No,” Therese whispered, “but you might have come back down.”

Carol sat speechless at the act of bravery Therese had showed. The courage the young woman had portrayed in protecting her and the children while subjecting herself to danger stunned her. She felt her heart swell, constricting her throat and forcing fresh tears to her eyes as she gazed at her lover. Carol’s reverie was suddenly interrupted.

The emergency personnel that Ruby had called arrived on scene, sirens screeching to a halt in front of the building. Ruby ushered the EMTs over and they urged everyone back as they attended to Therese, Tommy, and Harge.

“Did she lose consciousness?” A wiry woman with short cropped hair addressed Carol.

“I … I don’t think so.” Carol looked over at Tommy who verbally verified her answer as another EMT put pressure on the gash on his face.

The woman took Therese’s vitals, palpated her neck and asked Therese to turn her head in different directions. She then asked Therese a series of questions. Carol pulled on the sleeve of another EMT writing notes on a clipboard.

“Is she going to be okay?” she quietly asked the young man.

“She appears to be fine, but we’re going to take her in and have them check her out just to make sure,” he told Carol. “It’s possible she has a concussion. They’re going to want to do a CT angiogram of her head and neck to make sure there is no vascular damage.

Abby gently squeezed Carol’s arm. Coming up beside her, Abby had heard the EMT’s assessment.

“Carol, you go with her. I’m going to go put the children to bed. Don’t worry about anything here. We’ll take care of it,” Abby assured her. Just as she finished her statement, more sirens sounded and then silenced right outside.

Two officers entered the still open front door, and were immediately greeted by Ruby, who pointed to Harge, still subdued by Genevieve.

“We got this. Go with her,” Abby ordered.

“Thank you,” Carol gratefully whispered.

She looked over at Harge, now on his back while a chiseled female EMT with salt-and-pepper hair checked his eyes with a pen light. Her contempt for him welled up like the molten pressure within a volcano. Anything she had once felt for the man was gone. The memories were so disintegrated that she couldn’t even muster shreds of the feelings she had once had for him. Now all she felt was anger - anger and pity. Carol turned away, back to Therese.


	24. All Things Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. Thank you so much for following along, sticking with it, and ending up here with me. I appreciate all the kudos and comments so much. I see each and every one, and I'm so grateful for all your nice words and thanks. You warm my heart. See you around. - Pentimento <3

Therese was finally released from the hospital seven hours after the attack. Both women were exhausted and spoke little on the drive back to the atelier. The bar crowd had dispersed hours before, leaving even the streets quiet.  


Carol held Therese’s hand, their fingers laced together and resting atop Therese’s thigh. Therese’s neck already showed signs of bruising that was sure to turn every color of the rainbow. Despite the exterior trauma, tests confirmed that no major internal damage had occurred. Still, Therese was advised by the emergency room physician to rest and take it easy for the next few days. 

When the elevator opened into Carol’s apartment, the two women were greeted with the sight of Abby stirring from sleep on the couch and a trio of candles on the kitchen island filling the great room with the warm, heady scent of cinnamon and something Therese couldn’t identify.  

"Candles?” croaked Therese.  


“I asked Abby to make it welcoming,” Carol told her as she ushered Therese inside.  


Abby groggily sat up, tossing the blanket she had been using to the side. “Are you okay?” she asked Therese.  


“Yes, just tired and sore. Thanks for everything,” Therese told her.  


“It’s nothing. The kids finished the movie and crashed. I followed soon after, as you can see,” Abby said, gesturing to the sofa.  


“Go get ready for bed and I’ll be right there.” Carol pointed Therese in the direction of the master bedroom. Therese obliged, shuffling down the hallway, her fatigue evident in every footfall.  


“Goodnight, Therese,” Abby called after Therese as she reached for her shoes.  


“You don’t have to go,” Carol told Abby. “Sleep here until morning. It’s late.”  


“I should go,” Abby said. “Gen is at my place.”  


“Oh, right,” Carol said thoughtfully. “Thank you for taking care of the kids. It was such a relief not to have to worry about them tonight.”  


“That's what friends are for,” Abby said succinctly.  


Carol nodded in agreement and reached out to squeeze Abby’s forearm. “Still. Thank you.”  


“I talked to Ruby a couple hours ago. She contacted a friend of hers who is an attorney. Do you want to know all this now or another time?” Abby asked Carol as she picked up her coat and slipped it on.  


“Now,” Carol stated emphatically.  


“Ruby said Harge violated the Order of Protection which means he violated court orders. It’s a little tricky because he attacked Therese and not you, but because of the violent nature of the assault, he will likely be charged with Aggravated Criminal Contempt, a felony.”  


“What does that mean?” Carol asked. “Will he serve time?”  


“Very likely,” Abby told her, cinching the belt on her jacket. “The maximum sentence is a $5,000 fine  _ and _ seven years in prison. If nothing else, he should go away long enough to get sober and get his head on straight.”  


“Did Ruby know when Harge will in appear in court?” Carol asked.  


“She didn’t say if she did,” Abby told her as she pulled her keys out of her purse. “But now is not the time to worry about that. You have a beautiful woman in your bed and I have one in mine. So, I’m not exactly sure why we’re standing here talking to each other.” Abby leaned in and kissed Carol on the cheek.  


“Goodnight, Abby,” Carol said, standing up from the sofa.  


“Goodnight, Carol. Let me know how she likes the painting,” Abby said with a wink as she entered the elevator.  


  


* * *

  


Carol let Therese sleep in the next morning. She got up with the children and made them scrambled eggs and cinnamon raisin toast, but not before quietly examining a sleeping Therese’s bruises and kissing her sweetly on her temple.  


Therese spent the entire morning in bed, although she welcomed Rindy and Andy in to keep her company by early afternoon. After eating a late home-cooked lunch, she looked much more her normal self despite the bruises on her neck. The sparkle had returned to her eyes and she moved into the living room, once again scented by burning cinnamon candles, both on the island and on the mantel.  


“Darling, I have to go out,” Carol told her. “I’m going to take the kids with me so you can rest.”  


“Where are you going?” Therese inquired, her eyebrows scrunched. “I’m watching  _ Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer _ . I don’t think I can rest much more than I already am.”  


“We will be back in less than an hour. I promise,” Carol said, kissing her. “Just stay right where you are and relax. I’ll make us dinner when we get home.”  


“You won’t tell me where you’re going?” Therese asked her, the beginning of a pout crossing her face.  


“I will tell you part of our errands. I’m taking your keys and picking up some clothing and toiletries for you and Andy so you can stay here. I’ve already texted Dannie that we’re coming.” Carol finessed wiggling children, eyes still glued to the television, into their winter coats.  


“You don’t have to do that, Carol. I’ll be fine,” Therese argued.  


“Nonsense,” Carol said without looking up. “Other than spending time at Aileen’s on Christmas Day, what other plans do you have?”  


“I was hoping to spend time with you over the holidays,” Therese admitted somewhat bashfully.  


“Then it’s settled,” Carol said, pulling a knit cap over Andy’s unruly curls. Their eyes met and both women softly smiled.  


“I don’t want to miss the movie,” Rindy complained.  


“I’ll pause it for you and we can finish watching it together,” Therese told both children. To prove her statement, she reached for the remote and pressed the button. “What’s your other errand?” Therese asked Carol quizzically.  


“It’s a surprise.” Carol winked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.  


“I will be right here waiting then, I guess,” Therese acquiesced.  


Carol lovingly ran her fingers through Therese’s hair. “I’ll have my cell phone. Text me if you need anything.”  


  


* * *

  


When Carol and the children returned less than an hour later, happy faces accompanied a six foot tall Douglas Fir into the apartment. The sweet evergreen smell gently wafted through the air, intermingling with the scented candles.

Therese matched their smiles and stood up from the couch to help steady the tree while they removed their winter wear.  


“You can just watch us if you like, darling,” Carol suggested.  


“No way,” Therese argued. “I’m not missing out on decorating our first Christmas tree.” She froze, suddenly aware of the implicit meaning behind her words. Face flushed, she finally looked at Carol and the expression on Carol’s face surprised her. Eyes glistening, Carol tossed her coat over the sofa and quickly eliminated the space between them. She held Therese's face and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss that became open-mouthed, but not invasive. When she pulled back, her eyes shone with wonder. Therese smiled.  


“What do you say we make a few ornaments and decorate our Christmas tree?” Carol asked her quietly.  


“Sounds perfect,” Therese replied, her free arm around Carol’s waist, a grin on her face.  


  


* * *

  


From where they lay entwined on the couch, Therese and Carol enjoyed watching Andy and Rindy. The children laid sprawled on the rug in front of the TV where Rudolph and friends once again played their reindeer games. The tree twinkled in the corner, multi-colored lights and a mixture of store-bought and handmade ornaments made it look perfect, for it was uniquely theirs.    


“I have a present for you,” Carol whispered, nuzzling Therese’s ear.  


“It’s not Christmas yet.” Therese teased her, but Carol could tell she was interested.  


Indeed Therese was interested. So much of the last few weeks had dealt with this mysterious painting. Therese had a feeling early on that Carol was painting it for her due to all the secrecy around it. Anticipation welled up inside her and she eagerly held her breath for Carol to continue.  


“I’ve been working on something,” Carol started as she brushed a strand of hair back from Therese’s face, “and it’s time to show you. Would you like to open one present early?”  


Therese nodded, a grin appearing on her face.  


“You have to come with me,” Carol said, standing and offering a hand to her. “Get up slowly,” Carol ordered, who had not stopped worrying about Therese ever since the incident.  


Therese smiled inwardly. She assumed Carol was hiding the painting in the guest room. The door had been closed since she had arrived. However, Carol led her into the kitchen instead. She pulled open a drawer and withdrew a small box. It was the size of a remote control, only slightly taller. The box was wrapped with red paper and tied with a white bow. She handed it to Therese.  


Therese tried to hide her disappointment. She had been sure the painting was for her. If it wasn’t for her, why had Carol been so secretive about it? Was Carol unable to share intimate details of her life with her? Therese stared at the wrapped box. It was too large to be a jewelry box. She pulled the bow off, wondering what could be inside.    


Ribbon and paper discarded, she lifted off the top of the box. She glanced up as she did, noticing how excitement and anticipation made Carol beam. Therese looked inside.  


“Blocks?” Inside were four wooden children’s blocks. Therese stared at them. K,W,S, and O. She tried to decipher what they meant. Was it an acronym? She came up with nothing. She mentally reordered the blocks, but still found no obvious answer. She ran her fingers over the colorful raised and painted edges. She lifted one block, but there was nothing underneath, not even tissue paper, so she dropped it gently back into the box. “I don’t understand,” she said, looking up at Carol.  


Carol was obviously enjoying the moment. “Here, let me show you.” Carol took the box back. “Follow me.” She walked down the hallway and stopped before the guest room door. Opening it slightly, she reached in and turned on the light. Therese felt a gush of cold air rush out along with an unmistakable scent. Carol pushed the door open and stepped aside so Therese could enter.  


Therese walked forward. The room that had been painted light yellow was now a pale sky blue and sage green. An undulating border ran around the room, one-third of the way up the walls. A twin bed replaced the queen bed that had been in the room. An oak dresser and desk matched the bed’s wooden headboard. A box fan stood on the sill of the open window, gently blowing the air inside the room outward.  


All of these items registered subconsciously with Therese, but all her focus centered on one thing: the border that ran around the room. It wasn’t an ordinary border. It definitely had not been purchased, nor had it been stenciled. Where the blue and green met, sky turned into hills. Along those hills ran train tracks, and along the tracks ran a train almost two-thirds of the way around the room. Where the border ran behind the dresser, the train entered a tunnel on one side and exited on the opposite side.  


What was truly spectacular about the train though, was that it was hand-painted and the detail was extraordinary. From the shiny black engine trailing smoke to the numerous cars carrying all sorts of things - logs, coal, rocks, animals, and toys just to name a few - everything had been painted with great attention and precision. It was so intricate that you could look at the scene a hundred times and find something new to see each time. It was a work of art on a wall. Only the caboose had yet to be completed, the preliminary lines drawn in, but missing its final layer.  


Carol walked toward the chest of drawers and held the box of blocks suspended over the top of the dresser. Making sure that Therese was watching her, she quickly turned over the box and lifted it away to reveal the blocks underneath. Therese read the letters that now faced her: A, N, D, Y. She had already been smiling ever since she had seen the train, but seeing her son’s name on the small dresser in such a wonderful room started tears trickling down her face. Knowing that this was what Carol had been working on the past few weeks struck her with such magnitude that she was unprepared for her own reaction. Her hands instinctively covered the lower part of her face. Carol hadn’t just given Therese a gift; she had done this for both her and Andy. No - Carol had done it for all of them. Therese’s chest tightened. Her breathing, shallow and rapid, filled the room.  


Carol tossed the empty box on the bed and came toward Therese. She rested her hands on Therese’s hips.  


“I hated the guest room anyway,” Carol said coyly. Therese laughed, lowering her hands. “Will you move in with me, my love?” Carol asked her.  


“Yes,” Therese said without hesitation. “Yes, yes.” She threw her arms around Carol, her face buried in Carol's hair. “Carol, this is just … amazing. I can’t believe you painted this.” Therese pulled back far enough from the embrace to kiss the taller woman.  


Carol pulled their bodies closer, wrapping her arms around Therese’s back. After a few moments, they parted lips although their faces remained close.  


“There is one more thing,” Carol informed her. Therese’s only response was the raising of her eyebrows. “Abby and I spoke. With Phil leaving us at the end of the year, we’re going to need to hire someone, but we both agree that we don’t want to hire another teaching assistant. If we had one more full-time teacher, we could expand the school and take in more students.” Carol paused, moving her hands up to cup Therese’s face. “We would like to offer you the teaching position.”  


“Carol…” Therese shook her head in disbelief, fresh tears making her eyes shine brightly.  


“Is that a yes?” Carol pressed their foreheads together. “Say it’s a yes. Say that you will,” she pleaded breathlessly.  


“It’s a yes,” Therese exclaimed gleefully, kissing Carol forcefully enough to make the older woman laugh. “Can I show Andy now?” Therese asked excitedly.  


“Why don’t you show them both? Rindy hasn’t seen it either,” Carol explained. “Four year olds are not great with secrets, you know,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.  


Therese pulled the children away from their movie with a promise that they could finish it. She led them into the room and stood next to Carol, watching as the children gravitated toward the train. The small boy who spoke little, and usually only when necessary, suddenly had a hundred different things to point out, imploring them to, “Look, look!” with his finger dancing along the rails and a grin plastered on his dimpled face. Giggling erupted from the young boy when he noticed the giraffes’ heads sticking out of the top of a boxcar and the clown whose beach balls had fallen off the train and rolled down the hillside.  


“Mom, I didn’t know know this was in here,” Rindy said in childish wonder, taking her mother’s hand.  


“It was a surprise,” Carol explained.  


“For Andy?” Rindy asked.  


“Yes,” Carol told her, looking down at her daughter.  


“Did you paint it?”  


“I did,” Carol answered, dropping to a knee beside her daughter. “Would you like it if we painted something in your room?”  


Rindy hesitated before asking again. “You painted this for Andy?”  


“Yes, I did. But I will paint something for you, and you can help me if you want,” Carol told her with a kiss.  


“If you painted this for Andy, can Therese paint something in my room?” Rindy asked earnestly.  


“I think you should probably ask Therese, darling,” Carol told her daughter with a proud smile. Rindy looked at Therese and Therese smiled and nodded. “Well, then. I think Therese should probably live here with us if she’s going to be doing so much painting in your room. Don’t you think?” Carol asked Rindy.  


“Yes, and Andy can sleep in here,” Rindy happily told them.  


Therese crouched beside her son. “Andy, Carol made this. She painted it for you.” Andy turned and hugged Carol, who was still on her knees, tightly around the neck. Hug accomplished, he pulled Carol by the hand. She got up awkwardly and followed him to the end of the train.  


“I want this,” Andy told her, pointing to the unfinished caboose.  


Carol pulled him into an embrace and kissed his cheek. “Yes, darling. I’ll paint that for you, too.  


  


* * *

  


Carol watched Therese get ready, the younger woman donning a simple jacket over her white button up.  


“I can go with you. I’ll stay outside...” Carol began.  


“Carol, we talked about this.” Therese went to her and softly laid a hand on Carol’s cheek. “You and Ruby talked about this. You and Abby talked about this. You don’t need to be there, nor is it a good idea. I’ll be fine.”  


“You’re not nervous?” Carol asked her.  


“No,” Therese stated, her eyes darkening. “He’s a sorry little man and he’s going to be locked up, and I want to be there and make him look me in the eye before it happens. Ruby will be there with me. He’s going to know that it’s not just her looking out for you. I’ll be looking out for my family, too.” Therese gave Carol a quick kiss on the lips.  


Carol took Therese's hand and looked at her, noticing how the light from the window fell on the side of her face. Therese was the brightness in her life. Their love continued to astound and amaze her, growing with each day in new and unexpected ways. It was a different kind of love, unlike anything Carol had experienced before. She had a feeling deep within her that their love was not just of this lifetime. It wouldn’t matter where they were or whatever came to happen. Their love would prevail. It didn’t matter if they sold the atelier and moved to Florence. Their love would prevail. It didn’t matter if an elderly couple still ran an old brick atelier in forty years.  


Their love would prevail.  


  


* * *

  


_ Cosa bella e mortal passa e non d’arte. -Leonardo da Vinci _

  


(All things beautiful and mortal pass, but not art. -Leonardo da Vinci)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two people to thank, for without them, this story wouldn't be possible. First, thank you, Ligeria, for always catching mistakes I would not have found in 100 years. I'm so glad I asked you to beta way back when. You are such a sweetheart for saying yes. Thank you.
> 
> Secondly, thank you, calliesghost for the advice, the suggestions, and for making sure this story ever got finished. I don't know if people read these notes, but the fandom has you and you alone to thank for Chiaroscuro not being abandoned. I'll always be grateful for all you've given me. Thank you.
> 
> NC This one is for you.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to Ligeria for dotting my i's and crossing my t's.


End file.
